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LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 


OF 

FORTY YEARS. 



Henry Heartwell. 

4 4 



EDITED BY W. P. HARRISON, D.D., 
Book Editor, M. E. Church, South. 


Nashville, Tenn.: 

SOUTHERN METHODIST PUBLISHING HOUSE. 
1883. 


75 /?;? 

. W/rzr 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, 

By the Book Agents of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


PREFACE 


These little sketches are taken from real life. The names of 
persons and places are not always given, for obvious reasons. Un- 
like some who are accustomed to the use of the pen, I am not fond 
of writing. The manual labor is always more or less irksome. That 
I have written at all, is due to motives that are wholly my own. 
The reader does not care to kpow them, and would think neither 
more nor less of this little book if I should tell him why I have 
written it, 

The Book Editor may, if he chooses to do so, reveal the reason 
of this publication. There is no profession of literary excellence in 
these sketches, hut if the indulgent public should honor them with a 
cordial reception, something on a larger scale may he attempted by 

The Author. 

( 3 ) 



EDITOR’S PREFACE. 


We do not see it necessary to give any apology for the author. It 
is needless, for the reader has the book before him. If it is a good 
book, it will he found out, and appreciated accordingly. If it is dull 
and uninteresting, no further interest can he given it by any words 
from The Book Editor. 

Nashville, June, 1883. 

( 5 ) 












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CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

John Brown’s Mystery 9 « 

Jonathan Shelby 129 

Lucy Dalton 142 

One Glass of Sweet Milk 152 

Hope Deferred 162 

The Spectral Bride of Bean’s Station 168 

Have You Made it Up with Frank? 186 

The Ship that is Coming from Oyer the Sea 195 

The Agent of the Ugly Club 197 

Ten Years in the Wilderness 206 

The Unpardonable Sin 217 

Why They Do Not Agree 232 


( 7 ) 







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* 


. 

. 

V 


' 

v 



JOHN BROWN'S MYSTERY, 


Chapter I. 

I T was a very warm evening in June, and I had 
preached, as I supposed, a very dull sermon. 
The audience looked sleepy, my own mind was 
heavy, and I closed the service with a saddened 
feeling, such as those only can appreciate who 
have felt the conviction of failure settling upon 
mind and conscience after the labors of the pulpit. 

Still there were some cheerful reflections. The 
subject was a new one, and the sermon literally 
extemporaneous, for, by some movement of my 
thoughts which was unaccountable to me, the 
subject prepared for Sunday night had been laid 
aside. It had dwindled out of my mind. I know 
not in what other terms to express it. The new 
text came to me not ten minutes before the hour 
for preaching, but it took such firm hold of my 
thoughts, and so completely displaced the prepared 
sermon, that I had no choice in the matter. Was 
this providential? Was there some design of the 
Spirit in this sudden change of texts? I have learned 

(9) 


10 


Lights and Shadows . 


since to recognize the dealings of the Guide in these 
matters, but then I did not understand them. But 
now, after several years have passed, I cannot thor- 
oughly understand the experiences of that Sunday 
night. But I will not venture upon explanations. 
I had changed my text, and my sermon was a fail- 
ure. With this conviction, I went home, and, as my 
custom was, took up a book to divert my thoughts 
and read myself to sleep. 

The next morning I was keenlj r sensitive upon the 
subject of the sermon the night before. The Sun- 
day morning effort was a success. My mind turned 
to that with a feeling of relief. But ever and anon 
I found myself traveling over the ground of the mis- 
erable failure I had made. It was a fine subject — an 
important truth — so much might and so much ought 
to be said by a man of plain common sense on a theme 
like that! And so much that I had not said! 

On my office-table I found a packet of letters, 
placed there by my sexton. Among these was a 
note written on paper which bore the name of one 
of the largest hotels in the city. The writer desired 
the privilege of an interview with me at any hour 
of the day that might be convenient to me. A 
note addressed to J. 0., No. 76 City Hotel, would 
reach him; and he earnestly requested me to ar- 
range my affairs in some way that we might not be 
interrupted, and, if it would not be asking too much, 


John Brown's Mystery . 


11 


he would suggest his own room at the hotel, and 
three o’clock in the afternoon as the time. I had 
no engagement for that hour, and dispatched a note 
accordingly by my sexton. 

At three o’clock I was at the door of No. 76 City 
Hotel. In response to my knock I was invited to 
enter by a young man apparently twenty-seven or 
twenty-eight years of age. He was dressed rather 
plainly, but neatly, and wore a very modest gold 
chain, and no other ornament. His manners were 
easy and graceful, showing neither an undue re- 
straint on the one hand, nor the freedom of self- 
confidence on the other. His face was cleanly 
shaved, and its expression was that of an ingen- 
uous, candid man; but I noticed, after the first 
words of introduction, and the usual commonplaces 
which are indispensable whether among strangers or 
friends, that a look of anxiety settled upon his coun- 
tenance. 

“ You may think strangely of this, Mr. Heartwell,” 
said he, looking at me in the most searching manner, 
as if desirous of reading my thoughts; “but I would 
not give you unnecessary trouble, and, although I 
may not justify myself in your estimation for the 
liberty I am taking, still you are a minister, and in 
a certain sense everybody’s friend.” 

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “ I am never so well pleased 
as when I find myself able to do a service to my fel- 


12 


Lights and Shadows* 


low-men. That is my calling. You know a minis- 
ter is a servant .” . 

“True, sir; but it is not to every minister that I 
would confide what I am about to state to you. 
But I know you from reputation, although I heard 
you preach for the first time last evening.” 

I could not help wincing under this remark, but I 
have none of that small vanity which cannot afford 
to acknowledge itself at fault anywhere, and hence 
I answered, “ I am sorry, Mr. Carson, that you heard 
me last night, for I assure you the sermon was not 
a fair specimen of my preaching.” 

“ May be not,” he said, with a pleasant smile ; “ and 
I overheard an opinion to the same effect as I came 
out of the church. But I assure you that I did not 
go to your church as a critic, even if I felt myself 
competent for such a thing. My mind was ill at 
ease on yesterday, and after listening to a very dry 
discussion of a very dull theme in the morning, at 
a church of the same faith as that I am accustomed 
to attend, it occurred to me that I would go and 
hear you. I could give no reason for my uneasy 
feeling — at least I could not have done so then; but 
now — well, suffer me to turn inquirer for a little 
while, and let me see if I understood you aright 
last evening. ” 

“ Y ery well, sir,” I answered ; “ upon what point? ” 

“Did you say that there was a class of sins that 


John Brown's Mystery. 


13 


men commit that are never pardoned in this world 
or the next?” 

“ Well, I said something very like that.” 

“And you affirmed that the divine government to 
exist at all must exact satisfaction, if not for the 
sin , yet for the deed, when men transgress the laws 
of right and honor among themselves.” 

“I did make a distinction between sin , in its pure- 
ly moral character, and the sinful act , as one of the 
factors in the sum of the divine government; but I 
am not sure that I made myself very clearly under- 
stood, for, to tell you the truth, the words used were 
entirely extemporaneous, and were not as well chosen, 
perhaps, as they might have been.” 

“Perhaps not, Mr. Heartwell; but this is the par- 
ticular matter that I wish to inquire about. Do you 
believe that there is a certain retribution for men in 
this life? In other words, if I do wrong to one of 
my neighbors, is it, in your opinion, inevitable that 
at some period or other some other man will do to 
me as I have done to others?” 

“I think you have caught the drift of my sermon 
on that point.” 

“Well, if a man commits a sin against his neigh- 
bor — for example, takes that from him which might 
be restored — and then repents of his sin, he must 
restore that which he has taken unrighteously?” 

“ Certainly, sir. There can be no doubt upon that 


14 


Lights and Shadows . 


subject. The law of God is very clear. There is 
but one thing that can qualify this statement. If 
it is in the power of the penitent, his ill-gotten gain 
must be restored. If he cannot do this, the will is 
taken for the deed. But he must have the will , oth- 
erwise there is no hope of his forgiveness.” 

“ You do not believe that a man can be a Chris- 
tian, then, and have such property in his posses- 
sion.” 

“I certainly do not.” 

“Alas for the Church, then! If this be true, 
what will become of nine-tenths of the professors 
of religion?” 

“ I trust you are in error in your estimate of the 
Church, my friend,” I replied, in a tone which did 
not conceal a slight sense of displeasure. 

“ Perhaps so, Mr. Heart-well. It does not become 
me to judge. I remember that the Book says , 4 Judge 
not, lest ye be j udged ;’ but it says also, ‘By their fruits 
ye shall know them.’ ” 

“ There are hypocrites in the Church, my friend,” 
I answered; “ nobody doubts that. But to say nine- 
tenths of the Church-members are hypocrites is to 
make a severe charge, to say the least of it.” 

“And you will say that a young man of my lim- 
ited opportunities ought to be careful about pro- 
nouncing a verdict upon a class of people to which 
he does not belong,” he said, with a smile; “and I 


John Brown's Mystery. 


15 


admit that your opinion is justified by appearances; 
but permit me to say that I have spent all my life 
among bank-bills and coins and bonds, and all my 
waking thoughts, and even my dreams, have been 
connected with them. From my situation in life I 
have been associated with what is called ‘business 
men/ the trading world, and I tell you that if the 
commercial world is to be judged by the principles 
of the New Testament,, there is precious little chance 
of any man among them ever reaching the kingdom 
of heaven.” 

“I cannot say as to that, nor can I tell what the 
associations of your life have been,” was my reply; 
and I could not resist an inclination to retaliate up- 
on him, when I remarked: “The company that one 
keeps is very apt to mold his opinions; and if, as you 
say, the great majority of professing Christians are 
cheats and swindlers, your lot in life has certainly 
fallen in a sphere with which I am unacquainted.” 

He colored a little, but replied in a tone of voice 
that was very different from the one he had used a 
few minutes before: “ Excuse me, Mr. Heartwell. I 
am sorry if I have offended you, for it was the very 
last thing that I could be capable of. I am some- 
what impetuous and ardent in my temperament, 
and if you knew me thoroughly, you would see 
that I have no evil purpose in what I have said.” 

“Allow me, then, to say that I am at a loss to see 


16 


Lights and Shadows. 


what good can arise from this conversation;” and I 
made a movement toward the door. 

“ Please do not leave me,” he said, in a voice that 
betrayed no little emotion. “ O sir, it was not my 
intention to wound your feelings, much less to in- 
sult you! I should be unworthy the notice of a 
gentleman if I could do such a thing.” 

“Very well, my friend,” I replied, resuming my 
seat; “ if I can be of any service to you, I am will- 
ing to do so, but I am not in the mood to discuss the 
question toward which our conversation has gravi- 
tated. You will see from my looks, sir, that I have 
known much more of the world than you can pos- 
sibly know, for my age is nearly double your own; 
and I think, if I may say so without offense, I am 
not likely to benefit you by listening to your opin- 
ions of the Church and its members.” 

“Pardon me, Mr. Heartwell. I have spoken un- 
advisedly with my lips, and will do so no more.” 

“You seem at least,” said I, “ to have much of the 
language of Scripture upon your tongue. The words 
you have just spoken are from the word of God.” 

“ I know that, sir,” he answered, and a tear glit- 
tered in his eyes as he spoke. “ My mother was a 
Christian, and taught me to hold the Bible in pro- 
found respect, and to make it the man of my coun- 
sel. This is the very reason I have asked you to 
visit me.” 


John Brown's Mystery . 


17 


“And yet you have made a wholesale charge against 
the people to whom your mother belonged! How 
is this? ” 

“ Ho, Mr. Heartwell ; you are wrong. I said noth- 
ing against the Church — nothing against the Bible. 
I believe in the word of God as firmly — I was going 
to say as you do, but perhaps I ought not to say that; 
but never since I could remember have I failed to say 
the prayer that my mother taught me on lying down 
at night. When I learned it I cannot say, but I could 
not close my eyes for sleep until those precious words 
were spoken : 

And now I lay me down to sleep, 

I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep ; 

And if I die before I wake, 

I pray thee, Lord, my soul to take.” 

He uttered these words in a melting tone of min- 
gled reverence and devotion, such as I have seldom 
heard. 

“ She is in heaven, sir, and I promised to meet 
her there; and for this very cause I have desired to 
see you. Can you be patient with me?” 

“I will do any thing in my power to help you, 
Mr. Carson. But it is very manifest to you as a 
man of common sense that this is a very round- 
about way to arrive at a subject that seems to 
interest you. Please give me some idea of the 
^rvice I am to perform, and I promise you that 

patience shall have her perfect work.” 

2 


18 


Lights and Shadows . 


“ Thank you, sir,” he said, and walking to the 
door, he looked out into the hall, then closed the 
door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. I 
began to have a vague sense of uneasiness at this 
singular conduct of my young friend, and my cu- 
riosity, which was never a very large factor in my 
nature, was still sufficiently awakened to put me 
into the attitude of “an inquirer,” which he doubt- 
less saw, and anticipated me. 

“I have some friends here who may take it into 
their heads to pay me a visit, and I do not wish to 
be disturbed. If they saw the key in the door, they 
would insist upon coming in, and I do not intend to 
see them at present. Now,” he continued, “if you 
will take your seat by this window, it will enable 
me to tell you my story in a lower tone, and w T e 
will not subject ourselves to interruption.” 

I took my seat near him, and he began the story 
which will be found in the next chapter. 




John Brown's Mystery. 


19 


Chapter II. 


“ I never saw my father. He died when I was only 
three months old, and my mother died before I was 
ten years of age. Of my mother’s estate I know 
nothing, as all her financial affairs were placed in 
the hands of my uncle, who took charge of me after 
my mother died, and gave me a good academical 
education, which was rounded off*, as my uncle calls 
it, by twelve months of special application in a bus- 
iness college. From this institution, when I was 
only eighteen years old, I was graduated, and my 
diploma testified to my proficiency in the sciences 
that are necessary in mercantile life. My uncle is 
a banker, and I was taken into his establishment 
immediately as a clerk, and, when I came of age, 
was made the cashier of the bank; and this posi- 
tion I hold at the present time. I have no reason 
to complain of my uncle’s treatment, in some re- 
spects at least. I have been a member of his family, 
and am at the present time. He has treated me with 
all the kindness of which he is capable; but that may 
not be saying a great deal for him, for I believe the 
whole end of his existence is to make money. 

“ The bank is known by the firm name of ‘John 
Brown & Co./ but the company I am inclined to 


20 


Lights and Shadows . 


believe is a myth, the name being employed for the 
same reason that Dickens assigned in one of his 
books: to afford an opportunity to avoid unpleas- 
ant responsibilities, whilst Mr. Brown preserves a 
spotless reputation for charity, liberality, and gen- 
erosity. The partners, if there are any, are cer- 
tainly unknown to me, although there is never a 
day that they are not alluded to in some form or 
other. 

“From the beginning of my career, I have been 
informed by my uncle that I had no dependence in 
this world but my own industry and economy. He 
drilled me so effectually in this belief that I became 
at the outset exceedingly careful in regard to my 
expenses, and I doubt if there is a young man of 
my age in the country who has moved in the same 
circles of life at so small an expenditure of money. 
My allowance for my pocket-change scarcely amount- 
ed to five dollars a year until I entered the business 
college, and then it was barely sufficient to cover my 
necessary expenses. Of luxuries I knew nothing 
whatever. I contracted no bad habits. The use 
of tobacco and liquors I have never known to the 
present hour. My health, as you see, is excellent, 
and by my style of dress you may readily perceive 
that I am not, to say the least of it, extravagant. 

46 1 naturally felt for my uncle a warm attachment 
and a sense of gratitude. Although my intercourse 


John Brown’s Mystery. 


21 


with him has been under more or less restraint, I 
have noticed that his own children are kept in the 
same state of reserve, and, as far as I can see, he has 
no particular fondness for them. The entire house- 
hold is in a state of quiet subordination. His will 
is the law, and neither wife nor children seem dis- 
posed to rebel against this ruler. To do him full 
justice* I cannot say that he is an unkind master, 
husband, or father. His qualities in these respects 
are purely negative. At home — and he spends his 
leisure hours altogether at home — he is quiet, ap- 
parently unexacting, and constantly engaged in his 
library. His books are few, as to general literature, 
but in one department there is no lack of authori- 
ties. On every subject that relates to making and 
saving money he is thoroughly posted. 

“ The only social intercourse he has with the world 
is through the Church. This may seem to you a 
paradox, but it is a truth. He attends the Sunday 
service twice a day, and the official meeting, of 
which he is a member, once a week, or as often 
as it is held. Of his conduct there of course I 
know nothing, and the amount of his liberality 
to the cause I can only surmise by the ledger of 
the bank, in which all moneys paid out in this di- 
rection are charged to the 4 Charity Account of 
John Brown.’ The sum is not large. Indeed, for 
one of his wealth, it is ridiculously small; but in a 


22 


Lights and Shadows . 


town like ours there are not many demands of this 
kind. At least I suppose there are not, as I hear 
nothing about them. 

“ Our bank is the depository for a considerable 
number of farmers, merchants, some small mechan- 
ics, and two or three manufacturing establishments. 
In a town of two thousand inhabitants, we do all 
the business for nearly twenty miles of a rich and 
productive country. Besides myself, there is only 
one person engaged in the business of the bank as 
an employe. I am cashier, teller, and book-keeper, 
and at times undertake the office of collector, when 
by any chance -we have to send a trusty person to 
any distance from home. It is on business of this 
kind that I am here at this time, and have been 
here arranging a doubtful debt since Friday last. 

“Now, Mr. Heartwell, all these particulars may 
be a little tiresome to you, but they are necessary to 
a proper understanding of my case. I ought to men- 
tion another thing that is very important. My un- 
cle has a daughter three years younger than myself.” 

My friend paused, and looked out of the window 
for nearly a minute before he resumed the thread of 
his story. My curiosity began to be excited some- 
what at this stage of his narrative, for I saw in the 
expression of his eye a peculiar brightness which I 
could by no means understand. “ Is he in love with 
this daughter of his uncle? Are these plans devices 


John Brown's Mystery. 


23 


of escape — a runaway match — and am I to be em- 
ployed in the case?” This thought took possession 
of me, as my young friend prolonged his silence, 
and seemed really inclined to test my patience by 
provoking me to ask him the question. I was in 
the act of doing so, when he resumed his narrative. 

“ This cousin of mine is a very sprightly girl, I 
might say, but by no means pretty, nor what is called 
‘good-looking.’ She is not ugly; but she is, like her 
father, a creature of negatives. There is nothing evil, 
nothing even for a severe critic to condemn, in her 
conduct or her disposition; but, on the other hand, 
there is as little that is positively good. She is — — ” 

“ You are not in love with her, then ! ” I exclaimed 
in spite of myself. 

“ In love with her! ” 

And he turned upon me a glance that was almost 
fierce in its expression of resentment. 

“I should say not, sir; and probably that is one 
of the difficulties of my situation. I do not know. 
I cannot tell. The whole set is such an unaccounta- 
ble collection of strange beings to me, notwithstand- 
ing I have lived only twelve months out of their so- 
ciety since I knew any thing of life at all, that I am 
at a loss what to think. If I were to tell you any 
single sentence or occasional incident that has come 
to my knowledge, you w r ould think me demented per- 
haps, and despise the meagerness of my proof. Yet 


24 


Lights and Shadows . 


I am firmly of the opinion that my uncle and his wife 
and the girl herself are all determined to make me 
a son-in-law of John Brown in spite of myself.” 

The young man paused, and then rose to his feet, 
and took a turn or two about the room, as if only a 
little exercise could give him relief. It occurred to 
me that a little bantering could do no harm. 

“Well, Mr. Carson, from your own account of 
your cousin, it does not seem to me that the fate 
designed for you would be so very awful after all, 
unless ” 

“ What, Mr. Ileartwell! Is it not an awful thing 
in the presence of the living God to make a vow of 
love and fidelity to a woman whom you do not love? 
Is life, then, simply a piece of mechanism, and hu- 
man hearts and hopes and destinies like so many 
cogs, to correspond with the cogs of other wheels, 
to turn the machinery that grinds out money — dol- 
lars and dimes? And you ” 

“Hold, Mr. Carson,” I answered calmly. “You 
would not let me complete the sentence. I meant 
to say, unless your affections were elsewhere cen- 
tered. If you do love another, why, the affair takes 
altogether another shape.” 

“N o, sir,” he said, resuming his seat; “I do not 
love another. The fact is, my life has been such a 
mechanical affair that I am not able to say that I 
love anybody or any thing. I have been in a strait- 


John Brown's Mystery. 


25 


jacket all my life. I had no playmates when I was 
a hoy — was not allowed to have any, unless I got 
one by stealth; and I chanced to be exceedingly 
unfortunate in my child-friendships. Then, since 
I grew to be a man, I have had no time for any 
thing but business. It is standing at the teller’s 
window, or making up the accounts, all the day, and 
posting the books and writing up the correspond- 
ence at night. Sir, I have known so little of society 
that I am unable to provide for the amusement of 
the yearly holidays. The fact is, Mr. Heartwell, I 
am a machine, and nothing more, and a machine 
whose whole labor and product swell the fortunes 
of the owner, my uncle. I am a slave, a bondman, 
and if there is any thing lower, I am that !’ 7 

“Be calm, Mr. Carson; be calm,” I remarked, 
for his words were spoken with a terrible energy. 
“There is a remedy for all this. Your case is not 
half so desperate as you fancy.” 

“But hear me out, Mr. Heartwell. It is now 
nearly twelve months since I made a singular, I 
may say a wonderful, discovery. I told you that 
my mother was a pious woman. She was not de- 
monstrative in her disposition, but she loved me 
with all the ardor of a true woman and a fond 
mother. On her death-bed she gave me a book — a 
Bible. It was bound, as I have recently discovered, 
in morocco, with a flexible back; and one of the sin- 


26 


Lights ahd Shadows. 


gular things about it was that at the time she gave 
it to me she covered the book with some kind of 
strong cloth — a mixture of silk and wool — I do not 
know the name of it; and she told me that the cover 
would keep the book from being injured, for she 
wished me to read it every day, and never to under- 
take any journey without that book. And, true to 
my promise, I have it with me to-day. 55 

He brought from his portmanteau a small volume, 
the “ English Polyglott ” Bible, and handed it to me. 

“As you see, sir, it is again covered. But about 
twelve months ago the covering had worn so that I 
concluded to take it oft' and have another put on. 
Whilst examining the binding, which I now saw for 
the first time, I observed that there was a thin slip of 
writing-paper between the body of the back and the 
binding, and that this slip of paper was kept in its 
place by two or three stitches running into the bind- 
er’s thread. On drawing out this paper I found it 
was a letter from my mother.” 

He opened his pocket-book, and drew from it a 
small sheet of paper, much worn in the places where 
it had been folded, but otherwise in perfect preser- 
vation. The writing was in a cramped and nerv- 
ous hand, indicating seldom use of the pen, but the 
orthography was faultless: 

My Dear James : I am watched — I am sure of it, but I can- 
not tell you why. Perhaps I am wrong, for they have all been ex- 


John Brown's Mystery. 


27 


ceedingly kind to me, and I have never lacked for any tiling that 
could promote my comfort. But, my dear child, this is no more than 
their duty, for my money, or your father’s rather, has been the making 
of their fortune. Your uncle is a strange man. I do not understand 
him. He has done every thing that I have asked him to do, and given 
every assurance that I could demand for the security of the estate 
and your interest in it, and yet my heart tells me that you are going 
to have trouble with him. My disease has gone so far that there is 
no hope now of ever meeting your uncle Thomas, and I do not know 
that he is aw T are of my sickness even. But if you should ever find 
this slip of paper, and it becomes necessary to do so, look in the 
same place in the book called the Pilgrim’s Progress, and you will 
find a paper that will help you out of all your difficulties. Your 
affectionate mother, Hattie Carson. 

The young man watched me very closely whilst 
I read this odd paper, and when I had finished he 
asked, “ Well, what do you think of it?” 

“ It is a very strange affair, Mr. Carson. Did you 
look for the book after you found this paper — I 
mean the Pilgrim’s Progress?” 

“ Of course I did, sir; and I found such a book, 
with my mother’s name in it, but there was nothing 
in the shape of a paper there.” 

“ Perhaps, after all, this may have been only a 
sick fancy, a sort of delirium, in which your mother 
wrote that note, and may be there is a sort of myth 
or allegory that her sick brain conjured out. The 
Bible is the fortune, it may be, and the Pilgrim’s 
Progress will show you how to use it.” 

“If you had known my mother, sir, you would 


28 


Lights and Shadows . 


not think her capable of such an artifice as 
that.” 

“So, my friend, I do not regard it as an artifice, 
even if there is nothing more in it than a sick wom- 
an’s fancy. But hold a moment, Mr. Carson. This 
John Brown, the banker, you tell me, is your uncle; 
the brother of your father or your mother?” 

“Of my father, sir.” 

“IIow happens it, then, that his name is Brown, 
and yours is Carson? ” 

“Very easily, sir. My grandmother was twice 
married, and her second husband was Mr. Samuel 
Brown. The banker is therefore the half-brother 
of my father.” 

“So I see,” replied I; “it is necessary for me to 
have all the facts of the case.” 

“Just so,” resumed the young man; “the matter 
was so familiar to me that I never thought of the 
two names in my father’s family. But now to con- 
tinue my story, for I have not yet reached the prin- 
cipal matters that require your help. A few days 
ago, before I left home, I was removing an old 
ledger from the safe, when a leaf dropped out, and 
I had the curiosity to examine it before I returned 
it to its place. You know, sir, we sometimes adopt 
the practice of sealing up leaves in our books, in- 
stead of tearing them out or canceling them. They 
are regarded as accounts closed, and no longer re- 


John Brown's Mystery. 


29 


quired for reference, but may nevertheless be called 
for at some future day, and we adopt this plan for 
disposing of them. The leaf in question had been 
sealed up in this maimer, and I found that it was 
part of an account current of John Brown & Co. 
with the estate of James Carson, deceased. The 
sum brought forward at. the top of the page, to the 
credit of the estate, was something over twenty-five 
thousand dollars, against which there were debits 
amounting in all to something less than twelve 
thousand dollars. I learned from this paper that 
my board, tuition, and personal expenses formed 
the greater part of these debits; and it seemed to me 
that the charges were very high. 

“I confess to you that I had a very strong in- 
clination to pursue the investigation toward which 
this paper pointed; but nearly half of the pages 
in this volume were sealed up, and I could not get 
my consent to violate a confidence reposed in me 
by prying into that which was not intended for 
my eyes. Yet, being so greatly concerned in the 
matter, I could not avoid the conclusion that I 
was and am the victim of a long-continued and 
systematic fraud. But I wish to be on the right 
side, sir; and I dismissed the matter of the es- 
tate, and whatever may be my dues in that direc- 
tion, for another in which I know I cannot be 


30 


Lights and Shadows . 


“ What ! 55 I exclaimed, “ you have still another 
complaint against your uncle ?” 

“ Still another, Mr. Heartwell; and I think you 
will agree with me that here, at least, my com- 
plaint is well grounded. Before I became of age, 
my uncle, in order to stimulate me to greater exer- 
tion in the discharge of my duties, promised, in 
consideration of my faithful and unsalaried work 
for three years past, to give me three thousand 
dollars per annum as my salary for the future. 
This amount is not more than the same service 
would command elsewhere, but it seemed quite 
large to me, especially when I remembered the 
manner of living and the general scale of expendi- 
tures in my uncle’s family. Now, sir, you may 
well suppose that I was grateful to him for this 
liberal provision, and I can say with a good con- 
science that I could not have discharged my duties 
with more rigid diligence and carefulness if the 
entire banking interests had been my own. But 
what will you think, sir, when I tell you that 
this salary, so liberally and voluntarily 'promised , 
has never been paidV ’ 

“ Indeed, I think that yours has been a hard case, 
Mr. Carson. And have you no written contract or 
obligation from your uncle? ” 

“ Not the scratch of a pen, sir. He has been too 
cautious for that.” 


John Brown's Mystery . 


31 


“But what reason does he give for refusing to 
pay your salary? ” 

“Reason!" None at all. For I must own to you, 
sir, that for some inexplicable cause he possesses 
such a singular and despotic power over me that I 
have never had the courage to ask him for it.” 

“That is very strange, Mr. Carson. Upon my 
word, I think that you are proving yourself to be 
about as odd a specimen as this banker uncle of 
yours.” 

“That may be so. And now, Mr. Heartwell, I 
have come to the main point of my story. My mind 
has been greatly disturbed for several weeks past. 
After I found the paper containing the current ac- 
count with my father’s estate, I made up my mind 
fully to set myself right, and to do it in the most 
effectual way. I revolved many plans by which I 
might get even with the miserly old curmudgeon, 
and once for all break up the schemes of the fami- 
ly. There is an old lady in our town who has a 
large amount of money deposited in our bank. She 
has been making some sales of property lately, and 
from time to time she comes to the bank with the 
money for deposit. Some months ago she had a 
large sum — ten thousand and some hundreds in one 
deposit, and, for some reason I cannot now recall, I 
wrote the amount in her bank pass-book with a 
pencil. It was, I believe, ten thousand eight hun- 


32 


Lights and Shadows, 


clred dollars — the full amount. A wicked thought 
occurred to me a week or more ago. When she 
came with a small deposit, the page on which the 
pencil credit was made happened to be before my 
eye, and in a moment it occurred to me to rub out 
the figures, and insert only eight hundred dollars 
with the pen. No sooner said, or thought, than it 
was done.” 

“ 0 Mr. Carson ! ” 

“ Yes, sir; and I anticipate your question. You 
are about to ask me why I chose to make this old 
lady the victim, in case I should make up my mind 
to pocket the ten thousand dollars?” 

<# No, sir; that thought did not occur to me. I 
was too much surprised and grieved at the idea that 
you should entertain for a moment the temptation 
to commit a crime.” 

“ Well, sir,” he replied, in a tone so much cooler 
and less excited than he had exhibited heretofore 
that I found myself constrained to regard him with 
increasing suspicion, “I did intend to make that 
old woman lose the money; and if it were worth 
while to take up your time by relating another 
story, I could prove to you that you fully justified 
my action in your sermon last night, for I happen 
to know that very woman has defrauded my uncle 
of a much larger sum. So, as she has sinned 
against him, you perceive, your doctrine of retribu- 


John Brown's Mystery . 


33 


tion would justify another in paying her back in 
her own coin.” 

f . “That is only partly true, Mr. Carson. It would 
prove that these things happen by a law that I may 
call the equation of payments, sin for sin, and shame 
for shame; but how does it justify the act? One 
wrong does not justify another wrong. Because 
she cheated your uncle, it does not follow that you 
are doing right to cheat her. Come, my young 
friend, this is not good logic — it is a temptation of 
the devil.” 

“I have no doubt the devil has had much to do 
with the whole of it,” he replied; “but you can 
never make me believe that I, who have been actu- 
ally defrauded by my uncle, would commit a crime 
by simply taking my own.” 

“I am sorry to hear you say that, my young 
friend,” I replied solemnly, for I felt that an un- 
pleasant duty might yet arise out of this affair. 

“Now, Mr. Heart-well,” he continued, taking no 
notice whatever of my remark, “I will be entirely 
candid with you. I took the money, and I have 
it with me at this moment. I came to this place to 
make collections for the bank, and ought to return 
to-morrow. The amount I have taken does not 
cover my salary for the last four years and three 
months, my board and other expenses being de- 
ducted. He justly owes me more than this, to 
3 


34 


Lights and Shadows, 


say nothing about the estate, whether that be 
much or little. My salary, unpaid, amounts to 
nearly eleven thousand dollars. I had made up 
my mind to leave this country and go to the West 
where I am not likely to meet with any one that 
will care for my antecedents; and if they did, it is 
all one.” 

“ But see, Mr. Carson, You have only wiped out 
one witness in this case. The books of the bank will 
show the deposit, and this old lady’s account will 
stand against your uncle, notwithstanding the error 
in her pass-book.” 

“I have arranged all that, Mr. Heartwell. I had 
more leisure for that change than the other. As I 
keep the books, I had nothing to do but alter the 
figures on the ledger so that the sums on the ledger 
and the pass-book would agree. This, in the regu- 
lar posting, and comparison of the cash on hand 
with the amount called for by the books, enabled 
me to take out the money without running any risk 
of discovery. Now, in the city banks they compare 
the pass-books with the books of the bank once a 
month; in Beeehwood we call in the pass-books 
only twice a year. You see, by leaving the money 
at the bank there was a certainty of detecting a 
surplus in my absence here; but as the semi-annual 
balancing occurs next week, I intended to go 
through it with Mr. Brown, and then leave for 


John Brown's Mystery. 


35 


the West when it was over. I remembered that 
the money paid by the old lady was in one thou- 
sand dollar bills — ten of them — and I noticed a mark 
on each of them when I put them away. Whether 
she put the mark there, I cannot say; but she is a 
shrewd old customer, and I feel very certain that 
slid had taken down the numbers of the bills. If 
this has been done, of course there is a clew that 
would go hard with Mr. Brown when the denoue- 
ment comes — but then I shall be far away. What 
does it matter to me who loses the money? You 
see, I had arranged my plans pretty well.” 

“I am glad of one thing, Mr. Carson,” I said, 
looking at him thoughtfully, and as kindly as I 
could; 64 1 am glad to hear you say that you had in- 
tended to do this. It gives me room to hope that 
you mean to reconsider the whole matter.” 

44 1 admit that this is possible, sir, or I would not 
have sent for you. Jf there had been no partial 
change in my programme, I assure you we would 
not have met this afternoon.” 

44 1 rejoice in that fact, Mr. Carson ; and if I could 
believe that any thing I said in my sermon has pro- 
duced this result, it would certainly gratify me very 
much.” 

44 It was your sermon, beyond a doubt, Mr. Heart- 
well. You brought to my mind an argument that 
I had never heard before, and that is, that the ras- 


36 


Lights and Shadows . 


calities and villainies of this life are not handed over 
to another world for settlement, but paid here in 
this life, either in the same coin or its equivalent.” 

“ That doctrine, my young friend, is not a new one, 
by any means. It is as old as the oldest book in the 
Bible. The history of the patriarch Jacob is a fine 
illustration of it. He deceived his father, and de- 
frauded his brother, and it was not many months 
before he was, in turn, deceived and defrauded by 
one that he had trusted.” 

“ I have never heard the subject presented in that 
light, Mr. Heartwell; and I assure you that it is only 
necessary to make men believe that this is a law in 
the providence that rules the world in order to ar- 
rest much of the villainy that is abroad in the land.” 

“ You are right, Mr. Carson, beyond a doubt. But 
there is one view of the subject that you must be 
careful to guard against — a mistake which is very nat- 
ural, and is made by many. Because these wrongs 
and crimes come home like the chickens to roost, 
we must not suppose that every man that suffers a 
wrong has himself committed one, and that his 
present suffering is a judgment upon him. That 
view of the question often leads even good men 
astray.” 

44 1 have no doubt of that, Mr. Heartwell. It is cer- 
tainly a plausible view of the subject; and I remember 
that Job’s friends pressed the question home to him, 


> 


John Brown's Mystery . 37 

over and over, time and again, to make him acknowl- 
edge that he had committed some secret crime for 
which he was suffering. But I do not believe that . 
The point with me is, Does the intentional wrong- 
doer meet the hand of justice in this life ? Does he 
really sin against himself when he sins against an- 
other? This is a deep subject, Mr. Heartwell, and 
I would like to hear you further in regard to it.” 

“ I shall be happy to give you any help that I can 
afford,” was my reply; “ but just now it seems to 
me there is another question of more practical im- 
portance: What do you intend to do with that money?” 

“ Upon one condition, Mr. Heartwell, I give you 
my word that I will take it back, and use the first 
opportunity to correct my error.” 

“And what is the condition? ” 

“Why you must be aware, sir, that I cannot suf- 
fer myself to be defrauded out of my right.” 

“ Of course not. But you have not taken the 
proper steps to obtain justice — not by your own 
confession.” 

“I don’t know what you call proper steps, Mr. 
Heartwell.” 

“ I am not prepared just now to state the particu- 
lar measure I would advise. But upon one point I 
have no doubt at all — you must return that money 
to the bank, and you must correct the error in that 
old lady’s pass-book.” 


38 


Lights and Shadows . 


“I promise to do both, on the one condition that 
you will help me out of the scrape.” 

“I think I can promise that much, Mr. Carson.” 

“ One other thing I must ask you. Please do not 
mention this matter to my prejudice.” 

“ Of course this is a sacred confidence, Mr. Car- 
son,” I replied; “ ministers are often made confidants 
in cases that involve questions of duty and of con- 
science. Yours is not the first case that I have met 
in the quarter of a century that I have been a Chris- 
tian minister.” 

After some further conversation not necessary to 
detail here we separated, having agreed upon a plan 
to he pursued in the matter of the young man’s 
salary. 


Joint Brown's Mystery. 


39 


Chapter III. 


The town of Beech wood was situated upon one 
of the railroads that entered into the city where I 
lived. The town was one of those places that in the 
parlance of the day were “finished.” It had at- 
tained its growth, and being in a region of country re- 
markable for the healthfulness of the climate, there 
were many dwellers by the sea who owned summer 
residences in this elevated latitude. Having no in- 
terest in the appreciation of the price of property 
they never expected to sell, these summer residents 
were actually opposed to any local enterprise that 
increased the value of real estate, because it would 
increase their taxes. So, at the time of which I am 
writing, there were very few signs of improvement 
to be found in Beech wood. The society, however, 
especially in the summer-time, was excellent. There 
were several mineral springs in the vicinity of the 
town, and the usual fortunes attended the proprie- 
tors of the various hotels that accommodated the 
visitors to the “watering-places.” In some seasons 
there were great crowds, in others very few fami- 
lies, and only a great occasion of festivity or amuse- 
ment filled the ample halls and poorly furnished 
rooms of the hotels. 


40 


Lights and Shadows . 


It happened that this was one of the fortunate 
years for the hotel people of Beech wood. Very 
early in the summer, symptoms of yellow fever had 
appeared in the cities on the coast. Of course the 
first cases that occurred were only 44 sporadic,” and 
local boards of health, having an eye to the mer- 
cantile interests of their cities, were very confident 
that the disease would not become epidemic. But, 
the doctors to the contrary notwithstanding, the 
midsummer sun looked down upon a thousand miles 
of territory on the coast and river lines in which the 
very air was dense with the terrible scourge. Infec- 
tious, malarious, contagious, or whatever may be lts 
character, or by whatever means the thing happens, 
one fact is clear enough — the disease grows with the 
heat of the summer, extends its baleful influence in 
all directions, and fills the grave-yards with its vic- 
tims. 

There were many of the summer residents at 
Beech wood in the month of June. Some had 
proved prophets for once, having predicted the 
coming of Yellow Jack, and had taken time by 
the forelock, and moved their families early in the 
season. Many continued to come, as day by day 
the fearful plague raged in the sea-port cities. I 
had a ministerial friend, or rather a brother minis- 
ter, who resided in Beechwood, and I lost no time 
in writing to him, and requested the privilege of 


John Brown’s Mystery . 


41 


making his house my home for a few days. An 
answer came by return mail, and I was expected on 
the following Monday. My plan was to fill my 
pulpit on the Sabbath, and take the train on Mon- 
day morning, when a run of four hours would bring 
me to the place. On Saturday I could return home, 
and if my business required it, I could repeat the 
programme the following week. 

Early on Monday morning I was seated in the car, 
in which there were not a few of the “ birds of pas- 
sage” from the low country. As yet no very un- 
favorable symptoms had been observed, but the 
prophets were plying their annual vocation, for, as 
they were always prophesying, it was not remark- 
able if now and then their prophecies were fulfilled. 
In the seat behind me was an old gentleman whom 
I had never seen before, but we were destined to 
begin an acquaintance on this morning that was at- 
tended with important results. He was a man in 
the neighborhood of three-score and ten, of large, 
muscular build, and evidently had a strong physical 
constitution. His face was remarkable for the pe- 
culiar expression which, as I am not a physiogno- 
mist, I shall not venture to describe; but I have never 
known a man possessed of such a face that did not 
have the bump of ivonder largely developed in his 
head, or, at least, the disposition which “ the bump ” 
is supposed to indicate. A clerical friend calls it a 


42 


Lights and Shadows. 


Methodist face, and never fails to locate its possessor, 
wherever he finds him, as a follower of Wesley. The 
old gentleman in question entered the car in high de- 
bate with one whose manners indicated the “low 
countryman.” As they occupied the seat just behind 
me, I could not fail to hear their conversation, even 
when the train was in motion. 

“ I tell you, sir,” said the old gentleman of the 
Methodist face, “ you are all in the wrong upon that 
subject. Yellow fever, sir, is never indigenous in 
the United States. It is always imported, sir.” 

“ Then, how does it happen, Doctor, that we do not 
have the disease every year that it is in the tropics, 
if your theory be true? Our trade is the same with 
the ports of Cuba and the West Indies, generallj', 
and yet there are times when the fever rages in the 
tropics and we have few or no cases here. On the 
other hand, I have noticed that our worst epidemics 
in the United States coincide with either the very 
mild presence or total absence of the fever in the 
West Indies. How do you account for that?” 

“ My dear, sir,” said the Doctor, for by that title I 
now heard him saluted on every side, “you do not 
get the rationale of my theory yet. You do not un- 
derstand my position. I maintain that the yellow 
fever has a special locus in the Caribbean Sea, and 
that it is transported from that point by ships to the 
United States, and to the islands of the West Indies 


John Brown's Mystery. 


43 


tjiemselves. I do not say that the disease is gen- 
erated in Cuba or in St. Thomas— very far from it. 
No, sir, you do not see my theory at all.” 

“ Well, Doctor, what is your theory? ” 

“ My theory is a very simple one, Colonel, and I 
would state it to you in three minutes, but for one 
fact.” 

“And what is that formidable fact?” 

“I am writing a book on that very subject, sir.” 

“And how can stating your theory injure your 
book ? ” asked the Colonel, from whose eye I caught, 
now and then, a glance which plainly told that the 
military gentleman was full of humor, and had an 
opportunity to enjoy it. 

“ I intend that my book shall immortalize my 
name with the profession, sir. I intend to do what 
no man has done hitherto, and that is — place this 
whole question of yellow fever epidemics in a nut- 
shell, and give the faculty a hammer to crack it at 
a blow !” 

“Well, Doctor, let us have your book; the sooner 
the better. Do n’t let another season pass without 
bringing it before the world. I am quite certain 
that we are on the threshold of a bad season on the 
coast, and if the faculty can kill the fever at a blow, 
now is the time to strike the blow.” 

“All in good time, Colonel. One thing at a time — 
one thing at a time. We must go slow here. Too 


44 


Lights and Shadows . 


many interests are at stake. I am right, I am sure 
of that, but ” 

“Well, if you are sure of it, why not send out 
the book?” 

“ There is no hurry, Colonel. I am taking ob- 
servations. I have my plans, and if, as you say, this 
turns out to be a yellow fever year, I shall have a 
capital opportunity to prove my theory, as we disci- 
ples of Dr. Hahnemann say of our remedies.” 

“I hope you don’t intend to prove your theory 
as they do their medicines, by taking the disease. 
I believe you experiment first upon yourselves with 
your pin-head pellets, do you not? ” 

“ If we did, we would set a good example for your 
mercury-drugging and blood-letting doctors. Pre- 
cious few of them will take their own remedies!” 

“I believe you are right, Doctor; they seldom prove 
their faith after that sort. But, my dear sir, tell me 
this: What amount of real nourishment is there in 
a pellet — well, say of pulsatilla?” 

The Colonel was bent upon his little joke — that 
was very plainly to be seen. 

“ Why do you ask me such a question V 

“Because a young protege of mine had an awk- 
ward experience not long ago. You know Sim- 
mons, the son of Bob Simmons, in Mobile? ” 

“Very well; I know him.” 

“After his father died insolvent, I came in as 6 best 


John Brown' s Mystery. 


45 


friend’ of the family, and gave him a medical edu- 
cation. He had a liking for your practice, and went 
through the homeopathic college, and started out 
two years ago for New Mexico. On the plains out 
there, by some means he managed to get lost, and 
wandered about several days without food, until at 
last, having eaten every thing he could lay his hands 
on, it became a matter of choice to make a meal 
either of his boots or of his medicine-chest. He 
had a quart or so of medicine pellets in his wallet, 
fixed up to do the dosing of a whole regiment of 
soldiers. Now his boots were indispensable to his 
navigation, but the pills were not; so he sat down 
and devoured the whole wallet of pills, and didn’t 
leave the shadow of one.” 

“And did he die?” queried the Doctor. 

“Die! no, indeed; never the worse for it at all, 
but tramped into camp next day to tell the story on 
himself and his profession. Die ! why, Doctor, you 
do n’t believe that those mustard-seed pills of yours 
could kill a man if he swallowed a quart of ’em, do 
you? ” 

The Doctor was not pleased, for the latter part of 
the Colonel’s story was told whilst the train was 
“slowing up,” and the laugh that rose from the 
crowd of passengers was a heavy tax upon the Doc- 
tor’s good temper. He did not get angry, however, 
but continued, from time to time during the jour- 


46 


Lights and Shadows . 


ney, to argue the question of the non-indigenous 
character of yellow fever. The interest I felt in the 
subject was the occasion of my introduction to the 
old gentleman, and he proved to be a very genial 
companion. 

I had been in Beechwood two days before I met 
my friend Mr. Carson. He was very glad to see 
me, but very busy, as usual, he said. My views did 
not require any special draft upon his time for sev- 
eral days, as my principal object was to ascertain 
something about the reputation and character of 
Mr. John Brown, the banker. That gentleman I 
met at the house of my friend, who was his pastor, 
and therefore I had an excellent opportunity to 
learn what the u tongue of common report ” had to 
say about him. His reputation was decidedly good. 
Indeed, I could hear nothing at all to his disad- 
vantage. This is a fact so rare in itself that I was 
surprised. A man that has no enemies is either a 
very good man or a very useless one. Mr. Brown 
was not too insignificant to invite the shafts of envy 
and malice; that was a truth not to be debated. 
Either, then, I did not meet the circle in which his 
enemies moved, or else he had none. And if .he 
really had no enemies, he must have been a remark- 
ably good man. But his reputation was one thing, 
and his real character was another, and possibly 
might be a very different thing. To find out his 


John Brown's Mystery . 


47 


character, I must know the man, and an opportuni- 
ty was furnished me the day after my arrival. He 
happened to be a stockholder in an enterprise that 
had swallowed up the small savings of my life-time, 
and mutual sympathy in the anticipated loss of our 
money brought us together immediately, when he 
came to learn the fact that we were companions in 
misery. 

He invited me to his house, and I spent the second 
evening of my stay in the family of the Browns of 
Beechwood. It did not appear to me that the dis- 
mal representations of Mr. Carson were at all justi- 
fied by what I then saw and heard. Certainly, the 
house of Mr. Brown was plainly furnished, and his 
three daughters — for there were three of them — 
were not dressed in the height of “the style,” nor 
were they very remarkable in any respect. They 
were all plain people — notably so it would have 
seemed if his residence had been in the city from 
which I came. Of show and tinsel there appeared 
to be very little in the residence of John Brown. 
But I did not at that time observe any sign of the 
absence of real comfort. There was however, al- 
though I am sure I would not have noticed that but 
for the previous conversation with Mr. Carson — 
there was just a little observable constraint in the 
manners of Mrs. Brown and her daughters. As a 
clergyman, I am inclined to expect that, to some ex- 


48 


Lights and Shadows . 


tent; for in most households where we are only slight- 
ly known, many people look upon a minister as a 
man whose chief property is a long face, and they 
take it for granted that outward solemnity is a very 
good thing to have when the minister is “around.” 
So, not knowing how that matter stood with the 
Browns, supposing the conversation with James 
Carson had never occurred, I doubt if I would have 
seen any thing worthy of remembrance in their 
manners. 

Happily for my purpose, the affair of the coal- 
mining company was a subject large enough and 
fruitful enough to bring me and John Brown into 
each other’s society every day. When I did not 
visit him he came to see me, and I found myself 
growing into a positive attachment for the man. 
He was not a man of great learning. He made no 
pretensions in that direction, and was none the worse 
in my opinion on that account. I have a distrust, 
always, in the presence of a man that is parading 
his learning before me. Mr. Brown was, however, 
a man of very extensive information. He certainly 
did understand some other things besides the art of 
making money. My young friend was at fault in 
that judgment. Mr. Brown was not a man of enthu- 
siastic impulses. Evidently he was one whose move- 
ments were largely under the control of discretion. 
In our various conversations I did not see any indi- 


John Brown's Mystery . 


49 


cation of a temper or a disposition that was censur- 
able. He had a good word for all of his neighbors, 
and did not even castigate the rascals that were 
cheating us out of our money in the highly sul- 
phureous coal that we could neither sell nor burn. 
He was calm and resolute in his opinions concern- 
ing our remedies, and more hopeful than I as to our 
measures of redress. Upon the whole, I was begin- 
ning to like John Brown. 

It seemed advisable to me to get as large a view 
of the situation as possible, and among other points 
of interest, I was curious to discover if there were 
really any signs of a match-making conspiracy in 
the household, of which my friend Mr. Carson was 
to be the victim. I accepted an invitation to spend 
the evening, and to take tea — I would say enfamille, 
after the French style, if English did not serve my 
purpose just as well; and therefore I will say in the 
family and with the family, on Thursday evening. 
It was real tea , too, and not a supper where coffee 
alone is served. Moreover, the tea actually came 
from China, and had never been drawn before; and 
that is more than can be said for much of the tea 
that we buy at a less price than the duty upon 
the foreign arti'cle. Exhausted tea-leaves, gathered 
from the hotels and boarding-houses in New York, 
and dried on the top of those beautiful buildings on 

Broadway, do not make the best tea that I have ever 
4 


50 


Lights and Shadows . 


seen. Whether the copperas and sulphate of copper 
are put in too heavily by the Broadway tea-dealers 
I cannot say, but the genuine tea furnished to Mrs. 
Brown, by a relative and resident in China, was a 
most excellent article. 

My friend Mr. Carson was present, and remained 
for half an hour or more with the family in the 
parlor. One of my opportunities had come, and I 
made good use of it. Miss Ellen, the eldest of the 
young ladies, did show considerable attention to 
Mr. Carson, and I did not fail to see an unusual 
look of interest in the eyes of Mr. Brown when the 
two young people were seated near each other on 
the opposite side of the parlor. There was a sud- 
den animation in the countenance of Mr. Brown 
which the rather prosy matter he was talking about 
was not at all calculated to evoke. Besides, there 
was a something, which I believe poetical young 
ladies call “a far-away look,” in his eyes that inter- 
ested me decidedly. Young Carson was rising in 
my estimation from the low platform on which I 
had placed his judgment and sagacity some hours 
before. There was something in the wind, for when 
I turned my eyes toward the graceful matron of the 
house, I saw that she shared the interest that her 
husband felt in those young people, Ellen and Mr. 
Carson. Thus much I had learned, and before the 
young gentleman left the room these impressions 


John Brown's Mystery. 


51 


were strongly confirmed. Perhaps he had caught 
the drift of my thoughts, and gave me the oppor- 
tunity to detect the matrimonial conspiracy. I can- 
not say how that matter really stood. 

A few moments after Mr. Carson left, the young 
ladies, supposing that the elderly people had no 
special interest in their company, followed the 
young man’s example, and wished us a cheerful 
“ good -night.” The good mother soon left Mr. 
Brown and myself to enjoy the evening as we might. 
Now, thought I, there is a fine chance to make 
another discovery. Mr. Brown, being a member of 
the human family, had a weakness. Most of us are 
in this category — nay, all of us — but it is only the 
wise ones that are aware of their own weaknesses. 
It was necessary for me to find out that of Mr. 
Brown. It is the key to his character, and I shall 
never be able to manage him until I know his 
weakness. So I thought, as I sat listening to the 
banker’s observations upon the new project of run- 
ning a railroad to the mining region of the State, 
and whether the road ought to be a “ broad ” or a 
“ narrow guage.” Amidst all the arguments about 
the advantages pro and con, on the narrow-gauge 
question, I was quietly meditating as to how, in 
sailor parlance, I could get the “ weather-gauge” of 
Mr. Brown. 

It was a hard question to determine. I tried him 


52 


Lights and Shadows . 


in many ways upon many subjects. I could not see 
that his views gave any promise to develop a weak- 
ness at all. He thought, felt, and evidently would 
act, just after the manner of men in every direction 
that I had the sagacity to explore. I was growing 
somewhat moody over my failure, when a mere ac- 
cident turned the fortunes of the field in my favor. 
Mr. Brown had a weakness. Of that I could not en- 
tertain a doubt in the beginning. Butlhad/ownc/his 
weakness. That was quite another affair, and my 
triumph showed itself in my returning animation. 

Mr. Brown had a weakness for homeopathy. 

It is needless to tell how I found it out. It would 
be tedious to the reader and unprofitable to me. It 
was true, and that was enough. The Dr. Bullion of 
my railway acquaintance was the Magnus Apollo of 
the medical profession in the opinion of Mr. Brown. 
I have forgotten whether or not I have stated that Dr. 
Bullion was a resident of Beechwood. He was, and 
was as well known as any man in the town. Indeed, 
Mr. Brown perhaps excepted, as I afterward learned, 
Dr. Bullion was the most famous citizen in Beech- 
wood. He was popular with all; everybody liked 
him. This Mr. Brown told me, but it was confirmed 
by many less partial to the Doctor’s ideas. 

I cannot say that I am skilled in the science of 
medicine. Some excellent practitioners of the art 
of healing know very little about the science of med- 


John Brown's Mystery . 


53 


icine. The same thing is true in the profession of the 
law. Many excellent lawyers could not tell you the 
first principles of the science of law. So, if I admit 
that I know little about the science of medicine, not 
being myself a member of the faculty, I am kept in 
countenance by some excellent physicians of my ac- 
quaintance who are in the same predicament. But 
I do know some of the theories of medicine, and I am 
general!}' regarded as “ a good enough doctor ” by the 
generality of the society in which I live. So, hav- 
ing found out the weakness of Mr. John Brown, 
I availed myself of it. There are several features 
of the similia similibus curantur theory of which I 
heartily approve. I have observed, too, that my 
friends of the “regular” school are, at heart, like- 
minded with myself as to these principles, for they 
act upon them in a quiet, inoffensive way — not at 
all out of humility, however, but for divers reasons. 

The field was broad enough, and I cultivated it. 
I learned that Dr. Bullion was not only the physi- 
cian of the place, John Brown being the judge, but 
he was for my purposes a much greater man than 
that. He was a long-time and well-tried friend of 
Mr. Brown. This was a real “bonanza” among the 
mining products of that night’s discoveries. It was 
very evident to me that I should never arrive at my 
object in an ordinary life-time by a system of paral- 
lel approaches to the citadel of Mr. Brown’s eonfi- 


54 


Lights and Shadows. 


dence. Some men may be approached through the 
instrumentality of a discerning friend, and from such 
a well-meaning bosom friend you can tell precisely 
where and how to succeed in the task you have un- 
dertaken. i 

The banker was one of these men. I had not a 
doubt of it. I did not want a man to tell me what 
he thought of John Brown, the banker. I did not 
wish anyone to tell me any thing about Mr. John 
Brown. I wanted a man who would bring me by 
the shortest possible road to a thorough knowl- 
edge of the character of Mr. Brown. I had learned 
some things — would learn others — but I was not 
learning fast enough. The truth is, I was some- 
what pressed for time, and had no excuse in the 
matter of health to furnish for my absence from my 
charge. I was deeply interested in Mr. James Car- 
son and his fortunes. I could not fail to see that 
that young gentleman was in great danger, and I 
did not feel very certain that I could argue him out 
of an unlawful and disastrous method of doing him- 
self justice, taking it for granted that Mr. Carson 
had told me the plain truth in the conversation at 
the City Hotel. 

Given the fact that Dr. Bullion was thoroughly 
acquainted with Mr. Brown, and that Dr. Bullion 
was a man that any ordinary judge of human nat- 
ure would learn from A to Z in less than an hour, 


John Brown's Mystery . 


55 


I had no doubt that I was very near the accomplish- 
ment of my wishes. The next morning found me 
at the office of Dr. Bullion. In less than half an 
hour I had learned from his own lips that the Doc- 
tor had really retired from practice, but consented to 
serve the family of Mr. Brown and two or three oth- 
ers when occasion required. The Doctor was living 
upon a very comfortable income from moneys in- 
vested, that gave him no trouble, as they were all 
in bonds, paying semi-annual interest; and for 
the first time in my life I learned the whole proc- 
ess of collecting this interest, even to the minutest 
detail. He had never been married, but was as 
little like a crusty old bachelor as any man I had 
ever seen. lie was the very soul of honest, open- 
handed, open-hearted humanity, and had a delicacy 
of sentiment as faultless as a woman’s. The one 
thing I did not find out about Dr. Bullion, and the 
only thing that remained a mystery to me, was the 
reason he had never married. He would have made 
a magnificent husband for a woman capable of ap- 
preciating him. 

Yes! with all his hobbies — and he was a man of 
hobbies. But his hobbies were sensible, and always 
looked toward the benefit and improvement of his 
race, and not toward his own gains in purse or rep- 
utation. It was no regard for this reputation that 
forestalled the publication of his book on the yellow 


56 


Lights and Shadows. 


fever. He was certain about his theory, but he was 
not absolutely sure about his facts. Until he could 
demonstrate the facts, he would not venture the the- 
ory, lest he should mislead when he intended to benelit 
his fellow-men. In truth, I fell in love with the Doc- 
tor at first sight, you may say. He and I were not 
much alike — in many things not at all alike — but 
our very differences made us congenial companions. 
So it was that in a very little time I brought Mr. 
Brown upon the stage, and my friend the Doctor 
answered my questions before I had propounded 
them. He proceeded to give me a full-length por- 
trait of Mr. Brown. I recognized the likeness as 
far as my knowledge of the subject extended, and 
I believed the remainder to be accurate. 

The Doctor told me that Mr. Brown was believed 
to be a peculiar man; that he had certain habits 
which people generally could not understand, at 
the same time that they respected him, and held 
him in high esteem as a gentleman and a Chris- 
tian. He was not considered a sociable man, and 
there was the trouble. But this was a great error 
— one that at present did not seem very likely to be 
corrected. The fact wa's — and I am giving the sub- 
stance of Dr. Bullion’s confidences — Mr. Brown was 
greatly misunderstood and undervalued by the com- 
munity at large. Indeed, as I was a minister, and 
very near, in sentiment and feeling on religious sub- 


John Bro wn ’s M ns ter y. 


57 


jects, to the fold of Mr. Brown and himself, the 
Doctor would confide in me so far as to tell me 
that the sole cause of the peculiarities and singu- 
larities of Mr. Brown was neither more nor less 
than the existence of a great secret in his family. 

There! the cat is out of the bag at last, and the hon- 
est face of Dr. Bullion is all aglow at the thought 
that puss has made her escape by his pair of hands. 

Yes! a secret — a painful secret — but one that does 
not in any way involve the honor of Mr. Brown, or 
of any member of his family. So far from it, when 
that secret comes to be known, as at some time before 
very long it must be, if there is any room on the 
roll of canonization among Protestant saints, John 
Brown is the name that will be invited by the call 
to “come up higher.” 

The mysteries began now in good earnest. I had 
succeeded in the great object of my visit to Dr. Bul- 
lion, and yet it would seem that I was doomed to 
be defeated by my success. There were few things 
that the Doctor would wot tell me, but there was one 
that he could not. Of course I could not press him 
in this direction. It would have been an act of base- 
ness to reward him for his confidences by striving to 
make him betray a trust. So I left him, and re- 
turned to my friend’s “parsonage” in a state of 
excited curiosity that was positively unexampled 
in my experience. 


58 


Lights and Shadows. 


Chapter IV. 


After retiring to my room that night, my medi- 
tations were scarcely relieved by a ray of hope in 
the success of my mission. Up to that time I had 
spent less than an hour in privacy with Mr. Carson. 
He had nothing new to tell me, and I had very little 
to say to him. My plans could not be fully formed 
until I became master of “the situation.” Instead 
of reaching the light, the prospect was growing 
darker. That Mr. Carson felt himself aggrieved 
by the non-payment of his salary was natural 
enough. That Mr. Brown should withhold it for 
any cause whatever was very strange, now that I 
had satisfactory information about the banker him- 
self, and shared in the common belief in the upright- 
ness of his character. That there w r as some trouble 
m the family I had observed on every occasion of 
my visit to his house. Hot a word was said upon 
the subject, not an intimation from any source that 
there w r as any thing wrong, but there was, undoubt- 
edly, the absence of a thoroughly good understand- 
ing among the several members of the Brow r n house- 
hold. 

My time was out. I must return to my city home, 
and take another week for the prosecution of my 


John Brown's Mystery . 


59 


labors. My host, the minister, had not been made 
in any sense my confidant. But he was a man who 
knew enough of the world to allow other people to 
attend to their business, whilst he gave his time and 
thought to his own. He could not aid me in any 
way, and, in the state of the affair as it then stood, 
I did not know but an incautious word might be 
spoken on occasion, and that word might thwart all 
my efforts. To the city I returned on Saturday, 
engaged in the usual exercises of the Sabbath, and 
reached Beechwood on Monday about noon, finding 
Mr. Elliott, the minister, ready to greet me. 

My first visit that afternoon was to the office of 
Dr. Bullion. I found the old gentleman sitting in 
the shade in front of his office-door, with a bevy of 
little children around him. I was somewhat sur- 
prised at this, until a moment’s reflection taught 
me that the Doctor’s old age was precisely of that 
cheery, sunny sort, and his heart so transparently 
pure and guileless, that the little children would 
delight themselves in his company. He attracted 
them, and loved them, and that fact alone was 
enough for one who viewed human life through 
spectacles like mine. All the good people I have 
ever known were fond of children, and when a man 
becomes too great to enjoy himself among them, 
and with them, he has become altogether too great 
for me. 


GO 


Lights and Shadows. 


There was a little lass of half a dozen summers 
on the knee of the Doctor, and he was running his 
lingers through her golden hair, whilst he looked 
into the sparkling eyes of the little beauty and told 
her some story of the land of fairies. He saluted 
me in his hearty way, but went on with his child’s 
story after I had taken a seat by his side. After he 
had finished his story, and the small audience were 
dismissed to their play with a handful of bonbons 
which the old gentleman discovered in his pockets 
— “ found ’em out by chance on purpose,” as one of 
the wise little ones shrewdly observed — I said to 
him: “You seem to be very fond of the children, 
Doctor. Relatives?” 

“0 dear, no,” he answered; “I have neither kith 
nor kin anywhere hereabouts; but I am fond of little 
children, and especially of little girls.” 

He hesitated as if he anticipated a sally from me, so 
I remarked, “ It seems a little strange that you should 
be, inasmuch as you tell me you are still a bachelor.” 

“Yes, yes,” he said rather quickly, and with a 
slight nervousness of manner. “Iam still a bach- 
elor, and yet I am very fond of little girls, and con- 
fess that my fondness 6 grows with their growth and 
strengthens with their strength,’ as we say. And yet 
I have not married a wife. That puzzles you, Mr. 
Heartwell; but there is a history there, my friend, 
that is very painful to recall, and — — ” 


John Brown's Mystery. 


61 


“0 well,” I said, “pray do not recall it, Doctor. 
It was only a little thoughtless badinage of mine. 
Let it pass. 5 ’ 

“ Some day I will tell it, perhaps. But one thing, 
Mr. Ileartwell, I have observed,” and his voice re- 
sumed its usual cheery and animated tone; “ I have 
never known a man that was worth a fig who did 
not have a high degree of reverence for woman.” 

“ I agree with you fully,” I answered. “A man 
that does not reverence woman commits high treason 
against his race.” 

“ Your words are not too strong, sir, if you allow 
me to place the strongest emphasis upon the word 
reverence . You are right. And not because of our 
mothers and sisters, and all that. I hold that God, 
the Author of all good, created man and woman as 
perfect counterparts of each other; and, for the higher 
good of the man, he gave to the woman a power, a 
strength of attraction, which can only be exercised 
aright when man acknowledges the superiority of 
woman’s moral nature. I respect all women, sir, I 
care not what may be the misfortunes, or the vices 
even, into which some of them have fallen. I am 
really glad to see that you agree with me.” 

“Yes,” I replied; “and we have great reason to be 
sorry that we are in a minority, and I fear a very 
small minority, in the present age.” 

“Right, sir; you are right. But certain bold, • 


62 


Lights and Shadows . 


‘ unwomanly women 5 are largely to blame for that. 
By resigning woman’s true sphere, and seeking to 
take the man’s, they are hazarding their very dear- 
est and essential rights, and dragging true and pure 
womanhood down to the gutter and the kennel of 
politics.” 

“ I agree with you fully, Doctor,” said I; but there 
was great danger, I thought, that the good man had 
fallen upon one of his hobbies, and that I was “ in 
for it” to the tune of an hour’s discussion of the 
intolerable question of “woman’s rights.” But I 
was in error. He looked up at my face with a 
rather saddened expression, and for a moment was 
silent. 

“ The fact is,” he said, after drumming with his 
fingers upon the round of the rush-bottomed chair, 
“ the fact is, I am half inclined to believe in the old 
woman’s creed of a ‘lottery in marriage.’” 

“Indeed,” said I, wondering what had turned his 
ideas away again to the neighborhood of the pain- 
ful subject. 

“ Yes. Did you ever watch a parcel of little chil- 
dren blowing soap-bubbles on the surface of a water- 
basin?” 

“Often,” I replied. 

“Well, they are beautiful things, those bubbles. 
Beally I like to make them, old as I am, and back 
there in my office I have the complete apparatus for 


John Brown's Mystery. 


63 


doing the thing. The pipe and the ‘mixer’ have 
survived the destruction and dispersion of a large 
collection of chemical tools and implements, test- 
tubes, retorts, and the like. I am not ashamed to 
say it. One of the highest joys of my child-life is 
still one of the most exquisite enjoyments of my 
old age — blowing soap-bubbles! The fact is, Mr. 
Ileartwell, the greater part of the world does nothing 
but ‘blow bubbles’ any way. Things just as unreal 
— that is, as temporary, unsubstantial as a soap-bub- 
ble — are many of the treasured schemes and darling 
projects that employ time, talent, and money among 
the wise and great. But I was not thinking of that 
at the moment. I have seen a basin of bubbles, the 
bright, beautiful spheres, globes of a thousand brill- 
iant hues, riding side by side on the water’s surface. 
By the way,” he said, breaking off the train of 
thought, and turning around to me, “there is a 
trick in that. Did you know it?” 

“A trick in what?” I asked. 

“Why, in making those little bubbles ride, poised 
on the brim of the water. Have you seen it?” 

“I can’t say that I have,” said I, “if I understand 
you correctly.” 

“ W ell, I mean that there is a way to make a beau- 
tiful iris-zoned bubble float upon the surface of the 
water without endangering it in the least. The 
trick is a very simple one. I’ll show it to you 


64 


Lights and Shadows . 


some afternoon when we can have the children by, 
as an excuse, you know. But the illustration — that 
is what I *m after. These bubbles will float along, 
sailing serenely on the little mimic ocean, and ap- 
proach each other, sometimes touching and rebound- 
ing as if they were transparent rubber balls; and then 
drawing near together, they will look as if there was 
really a center of attraction each for the other; and 
when the border of their peripheries touched, there 
was a moment of hesitation, so to speak, and then, 
all of a sudden, each would open its arms, embrace 
the other, and the two would become one in a twink- 
ling; and then the great globe, doubled in size, seem- 
ing to feel its greatness, would sail over the sea, a 
thing of life, joy, and beauty. Sir, I am not sure 
that I am expressing it well, but the idea of mar- 
riage, the union between heart and heart for the 
life-journey, always comes to me when I see two 
of those beautiful bubbles joining their fortunes 
after that fashion. Not for long, surely, for the 
bright bubble has but a little span of existence, 
and the first breath of rude air, or slightest touch 
of rough material, breaks the vision, and leaves, like 
the similar wrecks of married life, only the spray- 
burst of sorrow behind.” 

“ Why, Doctor!” I exclaimed; “you are a poet.” 

“A poet, forsooth! I never wrote a line of poet- 
ry in my life.” 


John Brown's Mystery. 


65 


“ Never mind that. Some of the greatest poets 
could say the same thing.” 

“ Well, poetry or prose, I have read many a lesson 
of life in the movements of soap-bubbles in a basin. 

, See! Sometimes two of them will come along, 
blindly, blunderingly, and touch and rebound; but 
there seems to be a fate in it. Back they come 
again — touch and rebound, but this time with di- 
minished force. Back they come again. The touch 
is lighter, and there is scarcely any rebound at all. 
And when the next meeting comes, and you look 
for the two to marry, lo! in a twinkling they touch 
and die! Both are gone into the deep ocean below 
and the invisible air above! I have seen it, sir — 
many such events in human life. The fateful at- 
traction which repels and draws by turn, and draws 
at last only to lead to destruction!” 

The Doctor’s eyes became a little moist, and his 
voice trembled somewhat; so, lest he should recall 
the painful past, of which I did not feel inclined 
to hear, I changed the subject. He was a delight- 
ful old gentleman. Hobbies he had, but it was a 
very easy thing to make him dismount, as I found 
on this occasion. The main question with me at 
the present time I could not postpone any longer. 
“Tell me, Doctor,” said I, “about this Mr. James 
Carson. What of him?” 

“Well, Mr. Heartwell,” he replied, “I answer 


66 


Lights and Shadows, 


your question with itself, 4 What of him ? 5 What 
is it you wish to know?” 

44 What sort of a man is he? Young, intelligent, 
grave, and steady, I take him to be. Is it so ? 55 

44 You are right, sir. He is all that . 55 

44 And a man of his word? You can depend upon 
him ? 55 

44 Not a doubt about that, sir. I would trust im- 
plicitly any thing I had to the keeping of Jimmie 
Carson . 55 

44 And he tells the truth, of course? You can be- 
lieve what he says ? 55 

44 Certainly, certainly, Mr. Heartwell. I have 
known the lad since he was a two-year-old baby. 
A fine boy, a promising lad, a worthy young man. 
Not a doubt of it . 55 

44 So I thought myself, Doctor. Excuse me for my 
inquisitiveness. I had reasons . 55 

“Ah! I see , 55 said the Doctor, gleefully. 44 Jimmie 
has been to Quincy, and, pardon me, you have a 
daughter, Mr. Heartwell . 55 

44 Yes, but she has nothing whatever to do with 
the matter.” 

44 Well , 55 said he, dropping his voice, and looking 
rather moodily, I thought, 44 perhaps it is better. 
May be— well, I do n’t know ” 

44 Now, Doctor , 55 said I, laughing, 44 you are mysti- 
fying me sure enough. The young man has never 


John Brown's Mystery . 


67 


been to iny house, and I am quite sure my daughter 
never saw him, and I doubt if she ever heard of 
him. No matrimonial sphemes in my quarter, what- 
ever there may be elsewhere, Doctor.” 

I intended this for a “ telling shot / 5 but it missed 
its aim. 

“No offense, f hope, Mr. Heartwell; no offense, 
sir. Young people will marry, and parents are, and 
ought to be, cautious, for the happiness of their chil- 
dren is at stake, There are many fortune-hunters 
and adventurers abroad.” 

“ That ’s a good joke on me, though, Doctor. You 
are certainly aware that a clergyman’s family is a poor 
field for the exploits of fortune-hunters.” 

do n’t know so well about that . I have known 
some ministers in my day who were rich men. But 
it is not always the money that comprises the fort- 
une. Honorable position in society — the entree , 
as the French call it, to the first circles— some ad- 
venturers can pise these, you know, to make the 
money.” 

“ True enough. But this is not to the purpose. 
I have heard a rumor — a mere suspicion, I may call 
it — that associates Mr. Carson and the eldest daugh- 
ter of your friend Mr. Brown, the banker.” 

“ You have! ” exclaimed the Doctor, rising partly 
from his chair, and then resuming his seat with the 
most troubled look I had yet seen upon his face. 


68 


Lights and Shadows. 


“Pray tell me, Mr. Heartwell, from whom did you 
hear that?” 

“ Now, Doctor, you must not ask me such a ques- 
tion. You know I respected your reserve and prom- 
ise of secrecy about a matter last week. I claim the 
same privilege, if not the same right.” 

“Well, of course I yield it. But may I ask one 
thing? It is not from the young gentleman that 
you received the impression ? ” 

lie paused, and I was about to speak, when he 
added. “ I mean that it was not any thing you ob- 
served in his manner toward the girl herself.” 

“Not at all, not at all, Doctor,” I said, greatly 
relieved, for he was treading upon rather ticklish 
ground. 

“ So I thought, sir. All that has quite another 
cause, Mr. Heartwell. Quite another cause, sir. 
A great law, sir, that is as absolute, in my opinion, 
as the attraction of gravitation, although I have 
not yet succeeded in making my friend Brown see 
it.” 

The Doctor was on the right track for me, although 
I did not understand what “ great law ” he was talk- 
ing of. But he might stumble upon something that 
would give me a key. 

Alas! he did not. He changed the subject very 
abruptly, and wanted to know my' opinion upon the 
subject of narrow-gauge railroads. 


John Brown's Mystery . 


69 


Perhaps it was as well, for in a few moments the 
Doctor descried his friend the Colonel coming up 
the street, and the all-absorbing subject of the indig- 
enous character of yellow fever became the burden 
of conversation as soon as the military gentleman 
had taken his seat. I felt no interest whatever in 
this discussion, and, making a convenient excuse, I 
bid them “ good-afternoon,” and set out in pursuit 
of “ light.” 


70 


Lights and Shadows. 


Chapter V. 


I bent my steps toward the residence of Mr. 
Brown. The afternoon was quite warm, but the 
heavens were covered with clouds, and there was 
promise of the much-needed rain. On the way, I 
was obliged to confess to myself that my friend the 
Doctor had baffled me. He had added to the mys- 
teries belonging to “the situation/’ Whatever it 
might be that he referred to — the “great law” that 
was as infallible as the law of gravitation — it did not 
strike me that I had gained any new information. I 
was about to try my hand in a quarter that might 
give me better success. 

As I entered the gate of Mr. Brown’s residence, I 
saw Miss Ellen in the flower-garden, and she was 
alone. This suited my purpose precisely. She saw 
me coming, and advanced to meet me. 

“ The weather is very sultry, Mr. Heartwell, and 
my poor flowers have been suffering for rain for 
some time. I do hope it will rain. Do you think it 
will?” 

Ho young lady could be freer from affectation, or 
more naturally artless in manner, than Ellen Brown. 
Her voice was soft and sweet (that excellent thing 
in woman), and dressed in her simple, neat calico, 


John Brown's "Mystery . 


71 


with her white-corded sun-bonnet— a revival of a 
fashion of which, as a boy, I had tender recollec- 
tions — she seemed really beautiful. I assured her 
that it was going to rain, and probably within an 
hour, and it would prove a great blessing to her 
flowers, as well as to the farmers whose crops were 
suffering for many miles around. 

“How selfish we are!” she exclaimed; “I never 
once thought of the farmers and their crops, but 
my foolish heart was set upon my flowers — the 
dearest things to me. You see, father has divided 
out the flower-garden into three grand divisions, 
and my sisters and I have each a separate division. 
Not because there is any jealousy among us. 
Not that! But he took it into his head to di- 
vide the entire front -yard into five portions, as 
you see. But pardon me, Mr. Heartwell; may be 
you are not interested in these matters? Do you 
love flowers ? ” 

“Very much, indeed,” I replied; “they are the 
only inhabitants of paradise that are not in some 
way associated with sin and evil. I call them God’s 
unfallen children — the beautiful flowers!” 

“ I am so glad to hear that. You and I will be 
good friends from this time forth, I know. Suffer 
me,” said she, as she plucked a full-blown rose, and 
with her deft little fingers fastened it to my button- 
hole. “There now! you are' old enough to be my 


72 


Lights' and Shadows . 


father, and nobody will have any thing to say about 
that , will they?” 

“ What! giving me a button-hole bouquet? Bless 
my soul, Miss Ellen! you don’t know what a beau 
I am among the young ladies of Quincy. This is 
not the first time I have worn one of these trophies, 
I assure you. But I prize this , above them all.” 

“And why so, Mr. Heartwell?” she asked with 
an inquiring look that had nothing of make-believe 
about it. She was natural, and could not be other- 
wise, I am sure, if she tried. 

“Why, Miss Ellen,” I replied, “for the very good 
reason that this flower is a gift to me , pure and sim- 
ple, whereas the flowers I get at home are bribes.” 

“ Bribes, did you say?” 

“ Yes, Miss Ellen, bribes . You know it may some- 
times be good policy in the girls to purchase the 
good-will of a father who has a promising son.” 

“ 0 indeed! ” 

“Yes, and I take all their compliments as in- 
tended for some one else, you perceive.” 

“So, so!” and she laughed so musically that I 
was captured in a twinkling. A sweet voice, a fair 
face, a musical laugh. There are not many attrac- 
tions in a young woman’s possessions equal to those. 

“ Well,” said she, “J did not know you had a son, 
so I am not making favor with you on his account.” 

“So much the better, Miss Ellen. We elderly 


John Brown's Mystery . 


73 


men like to be petted a little by the ladies — why not, 
especially by the young ladies? ” 

“No reason in the world why not. But we are 
clear off* the track. Come, I want to show you the 
garden. Father has divided this plot, which good 
Dr. Bullion calls ‘Flora’s Parallelogram/ into five 
portions. They are all angles, you perceive; and 
three of them are in the form of pyramids. This 
one, with the base to the street, is mine. The apex 
is just opposite the front-door of the house. Sister 
Julia’s lies on the right as you enter; the apex is on 
the street, and the base at the house. So is sister 
Laura’s; but hers is on the opposite side. Now, on 
either wing you see a sharp angular plot full of 
young shade -trees. These belong to father and 
mother. Now, don’t you think that was really 
very clever? ” 

“ I do, indeed.” 

“ Yes, and each of us is sovereign in our own 
dominions. The gardener gives two days in every 
week to each of us girls, and this is one of my days, 
you see, for it is Monday, and I am the oldest. 
Father had some other fancy in this arrangement 
which he has never told to us, I am sure. He is so 
kind and good that we never tease him to find out. 
Now, that is not like a woman, is it? ” 

“ What! stifling your curiosity? I think it is bet- 
ter to have some things to speculate about. It is not 


74 


Lights and Shadows . 


well to know every thing. Life becomes tame to us 
then.” 

“ Perhaps so, Mr. Heartwell. But really there are 
many things that I would like to know, if it were 
right and proper.” 

She paused, and I waited to see if there was not a 
thread for a clew to some one of my puzzles, but it 
did not come. 

“ See here,” said my young guide, “ this is the 
gate to the Shrubbery, and we have in this place a 
labyrinth that is nearly half a mile long, if you fol- 
low the walk; but we have some flower-gates so in- 
geniously arranged that a stranger would never find 
them.” 

She placed her hand upon a vine, and opened a 
gate-way through the Shrubbery. Crossing the walk, 
we passed through another gate, and still another, 
until we had gone through nine or ten, when the 
last one opened upon a beautiful bower, over which 
hung a great variety of clustering vines. Fragrant 
flowers shed a delightful aroma over the place. It 
was a beautiful spot. Good taste, constant care, and 
no little money, had been employed in these grounds; 
and all was wisely bestowed, I have no doubt. 

“Does your father like flowers?” I asked as we 
sat down on the rustic seats in the Arbor. 

“0 yes, we all do except my Cousin James.” 

“And he does not? That is strange.” 


John Brown's Mystery . 


75 


“Well, the fact is, Mr. Heartwell, my Cousin 
Janies is a strange man.” 

I had touched the right chord. There is light as 
well as music ahead, thought I. 

“ Why, Miss Ellen, I have formed quite a good 
opinion of him.” 

“ Do n’t misunderstand me, Mr. Heartwell ; Cousin 
James is just as good as he can be, but he has some 
strange ways. lie does n’t like things that most 
people like, and he isn't the least bit sociable.” 

“Ah! that is the trouble, is it? May be he keeps 
too close to business, and has not time to be sociable. 
He is a very busy man, I think.” 

“Yes, I know he is; and mother says that Dr. 
Bullion thinks it important for his health that he 
should be constantly occupied, but I do n’t see the 
use of working a man to death in order to keep 
him in good health.” 

“You are right, Miss Ellen; that strikes me as a 
very queer opinion of the good old Doctor. But 
Mr. Carson has never been a dyspeptic, or any thing 
of that kind, has he? ” 

“ 0 dear, no! he has never been sick a day in his 
life, that I know of. And it is a wonder to me that 
he does not get sick. Everlasting confinement in 
keeping books, and all that, it seems to me would 
make anybody sick, dyspeptic, or something else. 
I am sure I’m very sorry for Cousin James, and 


76 


Lights and Shadows , 


wish something could be done for him, Mr. Heart- 
well.” 

She rose from her place and came to my bench, 
looking me very wistfully in the face, as she said, 
“ Mr. Ileartwell, may be you can do something for 
him.” 

“In what way, my dear Ellen?” 

“ I am sure I do not know, but it does seem to me 
that something ought to be done. It*is not father’s 
idea — this close confinement in the bank. He has 
told me so again and again; for I have felt for a long 
time a peculiar interest in Cousin James.” 

“That is not strange, Ellen; two handsome cous- 
ins that see each other every day of the world could 
hardly fail to be interested in each other’s welfare.” 

She caught my meaning in a moment, for a slight 
flush mounted to her brow, and heightened the fresh, 
healthy glow of her expressive face. 

“0 sir, I know what you mean; but see here, 
Mr. Heartwell, you are a man of experience, and a 
minister of the gospel. It is not worth while for 
sensible people to be beating around the bush in 
such grave questions as these. I am going to talk 
to you just as if I were your own daughter — will 
you let me?” 

“Most assuredly I will, and you will pay me the 
highest conceivable compliment by doing so. My 
dear child, tell whatever it is in your heart to say.” 


John Brown's Mystery. 


77 


“ Well, I have a great deal to say. But now that 
you have given me the permission, I really do not 
know how to begin. From what you said a moment 
ago, it is evident that you do not understand the 
cause of my interest in Cousin' James. We are 
cousins, you know.” 

“Exactly so; I know that. But people marry 
their cousins sometimes.” 

“Well, sir, you are certainly taking a father’s 
privilege in plain talk.” 

“Is it not best, Ellen? I thought we were going 
to lay aside all roundabout phrases, were we not? ” 

“Yes, sir; I meant that, but I did not look for 
this.” 

I was not at all prepared for the result of my 
scrutiny of Ellen’s countenance during the five min- 
utes that had elapsed since her cousin’s name had 
been mentioned. There was not a scintilla of proof 
going to show that she was in love with Cousin 
James. Baffled again, thought I; what next? 

“Mr. Heartwell, you surely did not think that I 
had alluded to Cousin James, and had brought him 
into our conversation, in order to confess that I was 
in love with him ?” 

“I did not, my dear Ellen; and I will be just as 
frank and free with you as you have been with me; 
and I tell you now that I do not believe that you 
are in love with him.” 


78 


Lights and Shadows . 


“No, indeed,” she answered, “I am not able to 
analyze the feeling that I entertain for him. I am 
sure, if he would let me, I would love him as a sis- 
ter ought to love her brother; but, as God is my 
witness, I have never thought of him in any other 
way than as a brother, nor has any one ever dreamed, 
as far as I know, that I did.” 

“ I believe you, Ellen,” I answered; “and now, my 
daughter — for you have honored me by allowing me 
to call you so— I will confess to you that I also have 
a very deep and absorbing interest in James Carson. 
I cannot tell you why, and it is not necessary that I 
should. But I am not only willing but exceeding- 
ly anxious to have ah opportunity to serve him in 
any way that I can. By serving him i shall be 
serving you ” 

“Yes, yes!” she exclaimed; “and all of us — 
father, mother, and my sisters — for we are all great- 
ly troubled about him.” 

It was more than an hour that I spent in the 
bower with Ellen Brown, and her frank and guile- 
less confidence in my judgment and discretion 
added, if any thing could do that, to the intensity of 
purpose that I now felt in fathoming the mysteries 
in the case. Once more, by a mere accident, I was 
referred to Dr. Bullion as the man who had the key 
in his possession. If he chose to do so, he could 
break the spell that surrounded this case, and I re- 


John Brown's Mystery. 


79 


solved to make a vigorous effort to bring matters to 
an issue the very next day. Whatever Dr. Bullion 
knew about the matter of James Carson I was de- 
termined to know. I intended “ to storm the fort,” 
and capture the man of hobbies, if possible. 

Wijh this purpose in my mind, I bid adieu to 
Ellen, and had barely reached the house of Mr. El- 
liott when the storm came on in good earnest, and 
the long-expected rain fell steadily the remainder of 
the afternoon, and late into the night. 

The next day I was at the breakfast-table when 
the messenger from the telegraph-office brought me 
a dispatch. It was the bearer of unwelcome news. 
The dreaded scarlet fever — the scourge of the coun- 
try in which I lived — had broken out with great 
suddenness in the city, and one of my own little 
family was one of the victims. I * had only two 
hours before the coming of the train for Quincy, 
and all my plans must be laid aside for a season. 
Only one thing could be done, and that I hastened 
at once to do. I had a few moments of conversa- 
tion with James Carson. Upon one subject I had 
information that would set his mind at rest. An 
opinion I could express on other points, but there 
was only one thing that authorized absolute cer- 
tainty of belief. 

He was very much relieved when I told him that 
I had positive knowledge of his mistake in regard 


80 


Lights and Shadows. 


to the matrimonial conspiracy. He had neither the 
false pride that clings to a wrong opinion for the 
sake of consistency, nor the petty vanity that is flat- 
tered by the “ conquests” of which some foolish 
young men boast. It was a real relief to find him- 
self in an error at this point, and I could seq that 
the effect of the blow in this direction would make 
it easier to convince him of other errors of judg- 
ment whenever I had it in my power to produce 
the proofs. One other thing I succeeded in doing. 
He promised me to take no step of any kind in his 
business affairs without consulting me. Thus, whilst 
anxiety of a more personal character came with its 
painful burdens, my heart was greatly cheered by 
the reflection that I had reached at last the clew 
that would bring me before very long out of the 
mazes of this misty labyrinth into the calm sun- 
shine of a satisfactory result. 


John Brown's Mystery. 


81 


Chapter VI. 


For several weeks I did little else than wateh 'at the 
bedside of my sick child. Contrary to general ex- 
pectation, the epidemic did not last long, and not 
more than a score of little lambs were dismissed 
from earth to the care of the Good Shepherd by 
means of the disease. Mine was not one of those 
that were taken. My little boy of seven years of 
age had a severe attack, but he recovered, and at the 
expiration of two months I resolved to take him up 
to the pure air of Beech wood to facilitate his restora- 
tion to perfect health, for the fever had left him 
much emaciated. All fear of contagion had passed 
away, so I took the boy and a nurse, and made my 
third trip to the mountain village. The train had 
a “ through ” passenger-car, and as I passed in with 
my little son, I heard a voice that I remembered 
well. 

“ Yes, sir; there can be no doubt of it. I have 
them here in a Florence flask, hermetically sealed — 
genuine infusoria from the Caribbean Sea, a species 
of salt-water bacteria , the sole cause of yellow fever, 
sir.” 

It was the voice of Dr. Bullion. 

“Fray, Doctor, for mercy’s sake!” screamed out 
G 


82 


Lights and Shadows. 


a nervous old lady, whose voice rose above the noise 
of the moving crowd; “ do n’t let ’em out, for the 
Lord’s sake! Who ever heard of a man carrying a 
bottle of yellow fever around with him? Why, 
you ’ll kill the whole of us !” 

“No, no, madam, not a particle of danger; they 
are sealed up in a flask, and can’t get out. My word 
for it, there’s no danger.” 

“Your word for it! ” yelled the old lady; and just 
then I lost the remainder of the dispute, but in a 
few moments I saw the flushed face of the old gen- 
tleman entering my car. The old lady had told the 
conductor that she positively would not ride in the 
same car with a man that had his pockets full of 
bottled yellow fever. There was no help for it, and 
the Doctor retreated with the best grace he could 
command. He recognized me, and taking his seat 
near by, he sighed and said, “ The world is full of 
fools, Mr. Heartwell.” 

There was a great deal of mortification visible in 
the Doctor’s face; and, knowing only a part of his 
interview in the other car, I could not help feeling 
that he was having a strong trial of his and my 
doctrine of reverence for woman. 

“Yes, sir,” he added, “it is full of fools; but I 
can’t tell you about it now. There may be one of 
’em in here;” and he looked around uneasily 

The train was “behind time,” and in making it 


John Brown's Mystery . 


83 


up the extra speed furnished few opportunities for 
conversation. When we arrived at Beech wood, I 
made an appointment to meet my old friend the 
next day. Once more I was domiciled in the fami- 
ly of Mr. Elliott, and the comfort of my child being 
provided for, I sallied out in the afternoon for a short 
interview with Mr. Carson. I was disappointed in 
not finding him at the bank, but Mr. Brown assured 
me that James would be glad to see me, for he had 
been slightly ill for a week, and had not left his 
room for two days. 

“ I have never known him to be sick before this 
attack, Mr. Heartwell ; I would be glad for you to 
see him as soon as you can. He is rather stubborn 
about taking medicine, and I am afraid that Dr. 
Bullion will not be able to manage him. By the 
by, you know the Doctor returned on the same 
train that brought you up to-day? 55 

“Yes; I met him on the train. Where has he 
been? For though we had some conversation, a 
funny incident prevented his telling me any thing 
about his travels.’ 5 

“ Is it so ? Well, he has been down to Mobile, or 
somewhere in that region, taking observations for 
his book on Yellow Fever. A brave man, Mr. 
Heartwell; a genuine philanthropist, and no mis- 
take.’ 5 

“I haven’t a doubt of it, sir; and that was the 


84 


Lights and Shadows, 


very thing that silenced him on the train. An old 
lady found out that he had been in the midst of the 
vellow fever, and refused to ride in the car with him.” 

“Aha!” said Mr. Brown; “rather hard on the 
Doctor; for, old bachelor as he is, he’s a great lady’s 
man, and fairly worships a woman — even his old 
cook.” 

Mr. Brown was greatly amused at my report of 
the “ bacteria ” in the Florence flask, and Dr. Bull- 
ion’s defeat; but I was anxious to see James Car- 
son, and after promising to call upon the Browns 
that evening, I left the bank. 

I found Mr. Carson in a neatly furnished room 
that formed the half of a little cottage within the 
same inclosure that contained the residence of his 
uncle. It was a very comfortable place, and the 
sick man received me in person at the door. He 
was not confined to bed, but there had been a 
great change in his appearance since I saw him 
last. He was much thinner, and I feared there was 
an indication of that terrible disease, consumption, 
in the hollow eyes and weak voice of my young 
friend. In his case I felt that the first element of 
success would be cheerfulness and mental relief. 

He had not much to tell me. There had been no 
change in his affairs since I left him in June. The 
same in all respects I found him and his relations 
to the family, the matter of his health only ex- 


John Brown's Mystery. 


85 


cepted. I could not resist the conviction that the 
time had come for me to penetrate the cloud of 
mystery that surrounded the young man and his 
fortunes. But how true it is that the best minister* 
to the sick is a buoyant, cheerful visitor. I could 
not shake oft’ a slight feeling of sadness, but I did 
my best to amuse and cheer the patient. Anecdotes 
and droll stories I told, which at first he scarcely 
seemed to relish, and looked, indeed, as if he was 
surprised to hear such things from a clergyman. 
But I exerted myself to good purpose, and before I 
left he had enjoyed more than one hearty laugh. 
Besides, I had become confident, more and more so — 
I cannot tell why — as I sat beside his lounge, of the 
final and speedy success of my plans. Surely there 
was some remedy for the present distress, and I be- 
lieved that I should find it. A close investigation 
satisfied me that his sickness was only mental. Be- 
lief in that direction would end in rapid recovery. 

One other theme was suggested by the little Bible 
that lay on the couch beside him. “How readest 
thou?” I knew that only by prudent steps ap- 
proach to the forum of the conscience could be 
found in a case like his. He listened patiently, an- 
swered my questions promptly, and I left him to 
study some passages in the Hew Testament which I 
had pointed out. One of them will sufiice as an in- 
dication of the whole. 


S6 


Lights and Shadows . 


“ You tell me that you are beset with doubts, my 
friend. A young man reared by a pious mother, 
it would seem to a superficial observer, ought to 
have his faith firmly grounded in God’s truth. But 
it is only the superficial observer who is willing to 
take the sublime doctrines of the gospel as a matter 
of inheritance. I am not surprised at your doubts. 
I would be surprised if you did not have them. 
You will see in the passage I have marked for you, 
in the eleventh chapter of Matthew, that the great 
forerunner of the Messiah, the herald of the king- 
dom of God, fell into doubt. Chained to the sterile, 
rock-bound prison on the shore of the Dead Sea; 
unvisited by the Master he had baptized, and the 
Lord he had worshiped; with no message from the 
Teacher who seemed to have a word of cheer, a 
work of mercy for every one but him; communicat- 
ing with the world without only by means of the few 
disciples who still adhered to him in adversity and in 
peril of his life; apparently forgotten by all except 
his enemies — it is not wonderful that he sent that 
message to the Master: ‘Art thou he that should 
come, or do we look for another? ’ You will see what 
the great Teacher said and did in reply to this ques- 
tion, and then, toward the close of the chapter, 
you will find the divine method of solving doubts: 
6 Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden , 
and I will give you rest ! ’ ” 


John Brown's Mystery. 


87 


Chapter VII. 


Mr. Brown and his family gave me a cordial recep- 
tion that evening. Miss Ellen and her sisters, to- 
gether with their mother, had an engagement of 
some kind at the house of a near neighbor, and 
left the banker and myself to pass the evening as 
we pleased. It was the most sultry night of the 
long, hot summer, near the end of August, and I 
readily accepted his invitation to enjoy the moon- 
light and the privacy of the Bower, in which Ellen 
and I had passed an hour two months before. He 
did not say as much, but I foresaw that Mr. Brown 
made this proposition for the purpose of securing 
a retreat that would be beyond the probability of 
interruption. I felt that the time had come to un- 
ravel the tangled skein that had been worrying me 
ever since my interview with Mr. Carson at the City 
Hotel. 

He did not wait for me to introduce the subject, 
but began as soon as we had reached the Bower. 

“ You have noticed something in the conduct of 
my family toward that young man, Mr. Carson,” he 
remarked, “ that has excited your curiosity. I know 
that this is so, for I could see the effect of your visits 
to my house.” 


88 


Lights and Shadows . 


“I am free to confess that you are right in your 
conjecture, Mr. Brown,” I said; “but I really did 
not know that I had betrayed myself in any way.” 

“ No, I suppose not,” he replied, pleasantly; “ but 
you must remember, or rather I should tell you, that 
we have learned to be very expert mind-readers in our 
family; and we all know something of your interest 
in our affairs, for Ellen gave me a full account of 
your conversation with her in this garden some 
weeks ago.” 

“ I am glad that she did, for that relieves me from 
telling you the story myself. But I wish to say this 
in advance, that it is not by any means an idle curi- 
osity that I feel in his affairs.” 

“ 0 never fear ! ” he exclaimed; “ I wouldhave told 
you all that I know, or did know then, when you 
were here before, if it could possibly have made mat- 
ters any better for any of us. But it could do no 
good then, and it might have done harm. So I suf- 
fered you to form your own conclusions, trusting 
that the time would come to clear all the difficulties 
out of the way. But now, thank God, the happy 
hour has arrived! ” 

There was a wonderful earnestness in his voice. 
It was no commonplace expletive, that “ Thank 
God!” But the full heart of the worthy man 
sent up to the heavens, over which the moon was 
shedding the fullness of her glory, a thanksgiving 


John Brown's Mystery. 


89 


as profoundly felt as it was emphatic in its utter- 
ance. 

“I cannot tell you a thousandth part of the joy 
that fills my heart to-night, Mr. Heartwell. And 
only an hour ago I received the intelligence that 
has solved the mystery and dispelled the gloom of 
these twenty-odd years.” 

“ Can it be possible?” 

“ Yes, sir. I have just seen Dr. Bullion, since you 
left the bank, and he has won the day at last.” 

Perhaps it is not manly to weep, and my readers 
are not as yet in possession of the intelligence which 
could cause a strong man like Mr. John Brown, the 
banker, to sit down and cry like a little child. I 
was deeply affected myself, although the matter 
was still a riddle to me, and I cannot attempt to 
solve it in precisely the way that the solution came 
to me. It was long after midnight before we sepa- 
rated, and the story was not completed then. My 
own services, too, were required in the sequel. So, 
upon reflection, I think it best to leave out the ac- 
cessories of the tale, and give, in another form, the 
facts as they were told to me. It was indeed, as Mr. 
Brown remarked as we parted at the gate of his 
mansion, one more illustration that “ truth is stran- 
ger than fiction.” 


90 


Lights and Shadows . 


Chapter VIII. 


The father of Edward Carson died several weeks 
before his only child was born. Edward’s mother, 
left with a large estate upon her hands, married 
Mr. Samuel Brown four or five years after the death 
of her first husband; and by her second she had two 
children, John and Thomas Brown. Edward Car- 
son was a gifted child, and in his earliest years gave 
evidence of oratorical powers which were destined 
to hold vast audiences spell-bound, and made his 
name among the foremost in the Congress of the 
nation. He was never a student, however, but 
seemed to learn as if by intuition that which 
others acquired by slow and painful labor, and 
many did not learn at all. One serious drawback 
attends these “ children of genius.” No ship can 
sail the seas unless she is properly ballasted. And 
this — the mental equipoise, that which keeps the 
whole man steady in his course — was lacking in the 
constitution of Edward Carson; audits absence has 
been the main defect in the history and career of 
many others. Wrought up to intense excitement 
under the strong pressure of his own powers, his 
nervous system became prostrated after one of 
those wonderful displays of eloquence, and he, 


John Brown's Mystery , 


91 


like many others, sought the miserable compensa- 
tion which alcohol gives to the susceptible genius, 
and gives it only to lure the soul to ruin. 

Edward Carson and John Brown were compan- 
ions at school, but the younger brother was a quiet, 
sedate, and rather dull boy. The fond mother was 
proud of her brilliant son, and gave him every pos- 
sible advantage, both as to the means of education 
and the choice of a profession. Although not nat- 
urally inclined to jealousy, John was sensitive and 
sensible. He could not help seeing the favoritism 
of his mother; and seeing it, he could not fail to feel 
it. Doubtless it was wrong for him to feel aggrieved 
at his brother on this account, but it was very natu- 
ral. Edward’s disposition was imperious and exact- 
ing, and he never troubled himself with any attempt 
to conciliate the brother whose feelings were contin- 
ually wounded by the slights and the neglect he ex- 
perienced at home. Mr. Brown, the father of John, 
was an easy-tempered, indifferent sort of man, who 
allowed his wife to have her own way in every thing. 
Thus the boys grew to manhood — one full of the high- 
est promise, with a brilliant career before him; the 
other grew taciturn and moody, and rejoiced at the 
arrival of the time for his release from the bondage 
of home. Edward, although some years older than 
John, remained at home, unmarried, long after the 
younger brother had taken a wife and moved to a 


92 


Lights and Shadows . 


distant portion of the country, to fight the battle of 
life with his own unaided hand. 

Years passed away, and Edward Carson was elect- 
ed to Congress. Before he began his first term at the 
Capitol, he married a young and beautiful woman, 
the belle of the large and fashionable circle in which 
she lived. Mrs. Carson was attracted by the great tal- 
ents of her husband, and married him, she scarcely 
knowing whether she loved him or not. Her time, 
her thoughts, her whole heart, belonged to the world 
of fashion. She was rich — or supposed to be so — 
and he had a large estate. Life was a succession of 
giddy scenes at Washington in those days. 

In the midst of these surroundings Mrs. Carson 
became a mother. To a foolish woman of fashion 
a child is a great incumbrance — the greatest of all 
perhaps in what is known as the creme de la creme 
of what is called “ society ” in the National Capital. 
The hapless infant is turned over to the tender mer- 
cies of the nurse, whilst the mother is in the gay 
throngs at the “ reception” or the ball. It would 
have angered Mrs. Carson very greatly if any one 
had accused her of neglect toward her child. Did 
she not buy every thing that could minister to the 
baby’s comfort? Had she not the most faithful 
nurse in all the world? Was there any thing that 
money could buy that was not bought for the “ pre- 
cious baby? ” Surely not! The most austere fault- 


John Brown 9 s Mystery . 


93 


finder could place his finger upon no dereliction in 
any of these respects. But there was one thing the 
little baby had not, and that one thing nature and 
reason demanded — the baby had not the care, the 
personal presence, the motherly society of the being 
who brought it into the world. The gay butterfly 
of fashion could not humble herself to become a 
nurse. 

Did she know how the deserted infant wailed out 
the gloomy hours of the night whilst she , the moth- 
er, was promenading in the brilliantly lighted rooms 
that were full of jewels and silks and satins and mu- 
sic, and all the paraphernalia of splendid sin and 
misery? Did she know how the sleepy nurse plied 
“ Godfrey’s Cordial ” to quiet the agonizing cries of 
the sick child, and purchased her own ease at the ex- 
pense of thehelplessinfaut? Iso, no! Sheknewnone 
of these things, else — but it must not be said now. 

The child was twelve months old, and was not 
weaned, only because its mother had never been 
its nurse. The “ session ” was over. Home to his 
splendid mansion in the South-west the young Con- 
gressman and his wife proceeded, taking not a few 
“great occasions,” balls, parties, receptions, and “ova- 
tions ” in their way home. The nurse and the baby 
were placed in charge of a friend who lived not far 
from Mr. Carson’s Eastern home, and promised to 
leave the young child in the parental nest. There 


94 


Lights and Shadows . 


was no risk in the arrangement. They were relia- 
ble people, and had children of their own. One 
more little charge was no incumbrance. All the 
plans were easily carried out. The Congressman 
had power. There was a motive sufficient to con- 
ciliate any favor! His wife was fond of music and 
dancing and shows and parades. There was a suffi- 
cient reason for asking the favor! 

So the gay woman danced and reveled her way 
home; and three weeks after she had left the Capi- 
tal, she sprung out of her carriage to rush up the 
steps and meet her “darling baby.” 

But the baby was not there! 

At the dead hour of night — a cold, blustering night 
in the middle of March — a steam-boat on the Kansas 
River is on fire! The fierce wind sweeps the flames 
in pitiless wrath forward, enveloping the whole ves- 
sel in a sheet of flame! Out of their state-rooms men, 
women, children leap into the water — into the dark 
waves that only dimly catch the beams of the all-de- 
vouring flames — whilst bales of cotton and barrels of 
goods and stray beams are seized, and the drowning 
wretches hold to the flimsy hope of rescue until the 
bitter cold freezes their fingers, and they fall back 
into the yawning gulf! 

The stream is far out of its banks from heavy rains, 
and a desperate effort of the man at the wheel has 
given the burning pile a “drift” toward the shore; 


John Brown's Mystery . 


95 


bat long before it can reach the trees on the channel 
banks, the last living thing has left the boat, and the 
burning mass becomes wedged between the trunks 
of two large oaks, and slowly burns to the water’s 
edge. 

Over the howl of the storm come the shrieks of 
burning, drowning victims ! Then all is silent, and 
the winds alone sound out over the angry floods their 
melancholy voices. 

And the Congressman’s child was on board the 
burned steamer, the “City Belle!” 

Only a few words of question, a terrible response 
at the door, and the mother reeled and fell into the 
arms of a servant. Her husband heard the wail of 
agony, and hastened to her side, learning the dread- 
ful news at the same moment. Mrs. Carson was 
speechless and insensible, and when the physician 
arrived it was doubtful whether her life could be 
preserved. 

For many days the wretched man could not leave 
the bedside of his wife. Tenderly he watched her 
through the long days and nights, and the peril of 
the sufferer kept him sober. But no sooner did the 
physician declare his patient out of immediate dan- 
ger than the unfortunate man resorted to the miser- 
able comforter that destroys sorrow only by destroy- 
ing the capacity for suffering. Blaming himself 
more, perhaps, than was his due, he banished the 


96 


Lights and Shadows. 


terrible recollection in fiery drink, and for weeks he 
knew little about the affairs around him. When he 
recovered sufficiently to learn the truth, and to con- 
verse sanely upon the subject, he was informed by 
the physicians that his wife would probably regain 
her health, but there was only one of two alterna- 
tives: she would become either a maniac or a hope- 
less idiot. The shock had utterly prostrated her 
reason, and the terrible fact was developed before 
long that in this state she would again become a 
mother! 

Every thing that science could do, or that money 
could provide, in the shape of intelligent and skill- 
ful advice, was tried, but it was not until her second 
child was born that the mother showed any indica- 
tion of returning reason. And then her lucid inter- 
vals were few and short. She could not bear the 
slightest allusion to her lost babe. Its very name 
could not be spoken in her presence without an ac- 
cess of her dreadful malady. 

It would be impossible to describe the sad circum- 
stances that surrounded the cradle of little James. 
Ilis fate was sealed, in the opinion of the physi- 
cians, who saw in the peculiar features of the case 
the physiological conditions which rendered the men- 
tal infirmity of the mother transmissible to the child. 
The revelation was too much for the unhappy fa- 
ther, and under this last blow, or the anticipation 


John Brown's Mystery. 


97 


of it, he sunk into the grave before the child was 
three months old. 

The melancholy lesson had no effect upon the 
frivolous people who knew Mrs. Carson as the 
belle of the ball and the admired woman of fash- 
ion. Words of empty condolence and sympathy 
came in a few letters that were never read, and 

then the woman and her sorrows were forgotten. 

7 


98 


Lights and Shadows. 


Chapter IX. 


“My brother had been dead three or four weeks 
before I heard of it,” said Mr. Brown; “and with 
the news of his death came to me for the first time 
the story of the loss of his child by the burning of 
the steamer. It was generally believed, and so pub- 
lished, that not a soul escaped that terrible calamity. 
Those who might have been rescued from the waters 
were unable to withstand the piercing cold of the 
night, and some were found frozen and clinging to 
the branches of the trees. 

“It was what is called in that region a 6 spring 
freshet/ and the river, rising in a day and night, 
fell as rapidly within its banks. It happened that I 
was not far from the scene on that awful night, as I 
will have occasion to tell you hereafter. 

“As soon as I heard of Edward’s death, I resolved 
to take charge of his little family, for our brother 
Thomas had been in California for some months, 
being one of the hardy adventurers who were after- 
ward called the 4 Forty-niners.’ In those days there 
were no railroads connecting this part of the coun- 
try with the section in which the widow lived. The 
whole journey of five hundred miles was made in a 
private conveyance. But I felt that the duty was 


John Brown's Mystery . 


99 


upon me, and the more because I could not quite 
justify myself for the manner in which I had treat- 
ed my unfortunate brother. I had purchased a small 
farm, with which I succeeded very well, and was fast 
accumulating property, but the, place was very un- 
healthy. We buried our first-born child there, and 
two others afterward. My wife became discontent- 
ed, and I shared her feelings. So we sold out our 
property, and came to this village, which was almost 
4 out of the world,’ as people say, but was noted for 
its healthfulness. I had a very respectable capital, 
and foreseeing that the march of improvement would 
come to Beech wood before many years elapsed, I pur- 
chased property here, and opened a small broker’s 
establishment. We were very economical, and my 
small business kept growing until I found myself 
sufficiently full-handed to call my establishment a 
4 bank,’ and, being satisfied to make money slowly, 
I soon had all the custom I wanted. 

44 When I removed to Beechwood, I had not heard 
from my brother for several months, and knowing 
that he was quite prominent as a politician, and had 
associates and aspirations different from my own, I 
did not let him know any thing about my change 
of residence. He was at Washington at the time, 
and I heard occasionally that he was leading a gay 
life with his young and fashionable wife. 

44 1 have thus given you the reason for my igno- 


100 


Lights and Shadows . 


ranee in regard to the loss of his child. It was not 
the proper way for relatives to live, doubtless, and I 
take some of the blame to myself — enough at any 
rate to give me more than ordinary interest in the 
fate of his wife and child. It was no easy task to 
persuade the widow to give up her home and come 
with me. But it was absolutely necessary for her to 
do so. The estate was terribly mismanaged even be- 
fore his death, and now that he was gone and she in 
a helpless condition, it was perfectly evident that the 
whole property would soon become a wreck. I re- 
ceived letters of administration, wound up the estate, 
and found only a few thousand dollars, perhaps eight 
or ten, as the residue after paying his debts. 

“I had a small cottage on this place, and I in- 
tended, in the event of the necessity ensuing, to 
place the widow and child, with two or three serv- 
ants, in a separate establishment. This was soon 
found to be actually necessary, for the poor woman, 
although gradually becoming reconciled to her lot, 
still desired to have a home of her own. Being so 
near to us, my wife was the real manager of her lit- 
tle household, and the boy became quite a favorite 
with us. 

“I must now return to the time when the steam- 
boat was burned. I had sold out all my interest in 
the farm, and was moving to this place, when I came 
to the ferry across the Kansas River. The stream 


John Brown's Mystery. 


101 


in winter became a great river, but being fed by 

mountain tributaries, and these from a limestone 

» 

region, the waters became very low in the summer. 
It was only in the winter and spring that the Kan- 
sas was navigable, even by small flat-bottomed river 
boats. The ferry happened to be very near the scene 
of the burning, and the ferryman told me that he had 
witnessed the terrible spectacle. As soon as he could 
procure a boat, which was not until eight or nine 
o’clock in the morning after the fire, he made the 
best efforts he could to find some one alive that he 
might rescue. I will not detail to you the horrors 
he described. But there was one incident which 
was truly marvelous, if not miraculous. 

“ It was nearly noon that day that he found near 
the shore a cotton-bale, on which he observed a bun- 
dle's he supposed of clothing, and on paddling his ca- 
noe up to the bundle, which was fastened by a shred 
of a torn shawl to the bale of cotton, he found in the 
bundle a living babe. The eyes of the old ferryman 
sparkled as he told me in homely language how he res- 
cued the little child, and carried it home to his wife. 

“ This was a marvelous incident truly; and after 
the ferryman had told his story, which had made a 
strong impression upon my wife, it occurred to me 
to me to make some further inquiries. We were 
childless, having buried our last daughter a few 
months before. It was suggested to me that this 


102 


Lights and Shadows, 


poor man probably had as many mouths as he could 
provide for, and he might not be unwilling to give 
away the little waif that had fallen into his hands 
in such a strange manner. My wife eagerly sec* 
onded the proposition, and we proceeded to nego- 
tiate the business at once. The ferryman had six 
little ones of his own, a sickly-looking wife, and, it 
seemed to me, rather a poor prospect for making a 
living. Nevertheless, he was rather a hard customer 
to deal with. 

“I do not know why, but for some reason, the 
more objections he urged against giving up the 
child, the more anxious I was to drive a bargain 
with him. At last I offered him a sum of money 
if he would give up his claim. There are few 
things that money will not buy, Mr. Heartwell, 
and the little waif in this case happened to be one 
out of the list of the exceptions. For fifty dollars 
in hard cash I bought the ferryman’s claim to the 
only survivor of the wreck of the 4 City Belle! ’ 

“ But we occupied the whole day in making the 
trade, and I was barely able to reach a stopping- 
place before the night came. It was agreed upon 
between us, my wife and myself, to say nothing 
about this transaction at the place where we stopped 
for the night, for obvious reasons. I did not know' 
but that the child might be claimed by some one, 
and we were resolved not to give up our little treas- 


John Brown's Mystery . 


103 


ure unless the actual parents should put in their 
claim. When we arrived at Beechwood, the same 
reasons caused us to keep the matter a secret. I 
searched the newspapers to see if there was any 
evidence that might lead to the identification of 
the child, but I never saw a line or allusion to the 
subject. 

“We had then undisturbed possession of the little 
girl, and all fears of losing her had been dismissed, 
when we received the intelligence of my brother’s 
death, and the loss of his daughter on the burned 
steamer. Of course the first thought that occurred 
to us was that the child we had obtained in this sin- 
gular way from the ferryman was my brother’s; and 
this possibility increased my desire to bring the wid- 
owed woman to my home. If she could recognize 
her child in my protege , there was an end to our 
claim, as a matter of course. On my way out to 
the West, however, I had to pass the same ferry, 
and met the same ferryman with whom I had made 
the trade some ten or eleven months before. He 
recognized me, and had many inquiries to make 
about the child, but there was something in the 
man’s conduct that aroused my suspicion. I cannot 
tell what it was precisely; but I fell into the com- 
pany of one of his neighbors on the other side of 
the river, and my questions brought to light the 
fact that my friend the ferryman had made an at- 


104 


Lights and Shadows . 


tempt to sell a little neighborhood wanderer in about 
the same way he had managed with me! 

“ You can imagine what effect this news had upon 
me. Was it not possible that the whole storjq im- 
probable enough at best, might have been an ingen- 
ious trick of this rascally ferryman? If he would 
try to deceive anybody in the second instance, it is 
clear that he was capable of deceiving me in the 
first. I was in a quandary, you may be sure. Per- 
haps after taking the trouble to educate the child and 
bring her up in respectable society, it might turn out 
at last that her true parentage would come to light, 
and I should have the mortification of losing my 
trouble, and be compelled to give her up to the 
low and degraded wretches who had sold their 
own flesh and blood for money ! 

“I found myself vacillating between two conflict- 
ing hopes. Not knowing the condition of my sister- 
in-law, nor at that time being aware of any means 
by which the child could be identified by those who 
had known her as a babe of a year old, I wished it 
might prove to be Mrs. Carson’s child. This was 
the more generous, the more humane of the two 
conflicting hopes. On the other hand, I had be- 
come greatly attached to the little girl, and it would 
have been a very hard trial to give her up. The 
mother’s hopeless condition as to permanent recov- 
ery afforded no bright prospect for the child, if 


John Brown’s Mystery . 


105 


we were compelled to give her over to her natural 
guardian. I foresaw that a divided control would 
be out of the question. 

“ Again, if it should appear that the mother be- 
ing in a condition to recognize her own offspring 
failed to do so, and the maternal instinct — of which 
my excellent friend Bullion entertains a very high 
opinion — if that failed, or the child should prove 
hereafter to belong either to the ferryman himself 
or somebody no better than he, my wife and I 
would be placed in a very mortifying position. 

“ With these thoughts, and a thousand others of 
a similar nature, I worried myself almost into a 
spell of fever. You can have some faint idea of 
my intense feeling on the subject of the first meet- 
ing of Mrs. Carson and the child at my house. But 
the event proved nothing at all. She did not notice 
the little girl, who was then just beginning to walk, 
and toddled up to the widow’s chair in the most 
winning way, and fixed her curious little eyes on 
the pale face of the poor woman. There was no 
sign of maternal instinct there! For many weeks 
they were in the same house, and the woman showed 
not the slightest attachment for the child. Any cas- 
ual visitor would have exhibited more interest than 
she did. Often and often did I and my wife en- 
deavor to approach the forbidden subject, when the 
poor woman seemed to be in a condition to warrant 


106 


Lights and Shadows . 


us in doing so, but we could never induce her to say 
a word about her past history. Perhaps it was a 
blank to her; I know not. It is certain, that dur- 
ing the nine years of her residence upon this lot, 
neither my wife nor myself ever heard her allude in 
any way to her lost child, nor even to her husband. 

“ To say the truth, after she became sufficiently 
restored to relieve us from continual anxiety about 
her, she always exhibited a very taciturn and quiet 
disposition. When little James became old enough 
she would have long conversations with him, but 
what these were about we never knew, for the mo- 
ment any one of my family entered the room she 
became silent. She had but one employment, and 
that was knitting. Incapable of the smallest offices 
of thrift or providence in the way of mending or 
making her child’s clothing, she was nevertheless 
always busy. I seldom saw her idle or unoccupied, 
and yet she did nothing — that is to say, nothing 
of value or use, even with her knitting-needles. 
My wife had many a funny story to tell me of the 
queer -looking stockings that Mrs. Carson made. 
But employment was a blessing to her, and we fur- 
nished her with an abundance of thread, much of 
which was carefully unraveled afterward and again 
put together in the most unwearable shapes by the 
poor creature’s nimble fingers. 

“ But I must not weary you. Dr. Bullion was a 


John Brown’s Mystery . 


107 


practicing physician when we came here, and I had 
great confidence in him. He was a man of scientific 
knowledge, and had been at one time physician to 
an asylum for the insane. Of course I consulted 
him in regard to my sister-in-law. The Doctor had 
many pet theories. He believed that nature was an 
infallible guide in such a case as ours, and he never 
lost confidence in his opinion that Mrs. Carson 
would, sooner or later, recognize her daughter, if, 
indeed, little Ellen — and you have guessed already 
that she is the heroine of the 4 City Belle’ ” 

“ I have been counting up the years, Mr. Brown,” 
I replied, “ but it seems to me that even Ellen looks 
too young to be the subject of this strange story.” 

“Does she, indeed? Well, Ellen it is, beyond a 
doubt. What was I saying ? I meant to say that 
the Doctor contended to the very last that if Ellen 
was really Mrs. Carson’s child it would be made 
known in some way. But the woman 6 died and 
made no sign.’ She had become sincerely pious, 
and read her Bible studiously, but what her views 
were, I could never ascertain. She attended the 
service on Sunday, and was as attentive to the 
preaching of the gospel as any hearer in the con- 
gregation. But when I suggested to her that she 
ought to join the Church, she shook her head, and 
made me no other answer. The minister who vis- 
ited her in her last hours was equally unsuccessful. 


108 


Lights and Shadows * 


She would answer 4 yes’ and 4 no,’ intelligently 
enough, but beyond these indications we could 
never learn any thing about her spiritual knowl- 
edge. Truly her life — the latter part of it — was an 
atonement for the sin and folly of her youth. 

“After we buried his mother, a new interest, or 
rather the once divided interest, settled upon little 
James. It was a theory of Dr. Bullion’s that James 
and Ellen, if they were really brother and sister, 
would learn the fact by 6 the unerring monitor 
nature,’ as he was in the habit of expressing it. 
I could not see the philosophy involved in his the- 
ory; but he had a great deal to say in defense of 
his views, and I had little to say against them. I 
fervently hoped it would prove to be the truth, and 
thus remove the danger of having my poor Ellen 
taken from me by some brute or other. You can- 
not conceive what a nest of troubles we have had in 
our house these twenty-odd years. 

“ The romantic story of Ellen’s rescue we could 
not breathe to a living soul, except our friend the 
Doctor. Hence, we were continually under a sort 
of constraint that was very disagreeable to both my 
wife and myself. After the birth of our two daugh- 
ters, we endeavored to treat them all alike, and the 
children have not the faintest suspicion that Ellen 
is not their own sister. But this of itself did not 
present the most formidable difficulty. Very early — 


John Brown's Mystery . 


109 


that is to say, about the fourteenth or fifteenth year 
of her age — Ellen began to be deeply interested in 
James, whom she believed, of course, to be her 
cousin. What if she should ‘fall in love 5 with 
him, and he with her! She always looked younger 
than she really was, and the slight difference in 
their ages — only about eighteen months — would 
have been no barrier to their marriage, even if he 
had known it. Then, again, how could we be cer- 
tain that he was her brother? 

“Here were difficulties, and they required delicate 
management. The fearful uncertainty was enough 
to forestall all consent upon our part to such a match, 
and yet we knew not how to guard against it. Then 
a new trouble came to the front. The terrible con- 
dition of James’s mother, at the time of his birth, 
gave rise to the belief that incipient insanity was in 
his constitution somewhere. I am not able to tell 
you how Ur. Bullion represented it — but there was 
the danger. The most careful management might 
be important to prevent the development of the 
disease. Hence, it was necessary to keep a con- 
stant and sometimes to him, doubtless, an unpleas- 
ant oversight of all his actions, in order to detect 
any tendency of the kind. Employment, the Doc- 
tor argued, was essential. Any thing to keep the 
child from brooding over the loss of his mother — 
any thing that would divert or amuse him. I con- 


110 


Lights and Shadows . 


fess that he seemed to be unlike most children in 
many respects. He was remarkably truthful. I 
have never detected him in a falsehood. But, like 
his mother, he was and is taciturn and gloomy in 
his disposition. So he seemed to me, although I 
have never heard him say any thing that savored of 
despondency or depression of spirits. He has been 
attentive to business, faithful in every respect, and 
I have no fault to find with him in any particular. 
But he is not sociable. He does not seem disposed 
to mingle in society, and spends the leisure time that 
he has among his books. 5 ’ 

“Allow me a word just there, Mr. Brown,” said 
I: ^Are you sure that you have not kept him too 
closely confined to the bank?” 

*‘It may be so,” he replied; “but I have tried re- 
peatedly to induce James to take recreation, to go 
among the young people of his own age, and in 
every way that I knew I have endeavored to let 
him feel that he was free to follow his own inclina- 
tions. You know the adage, 4 A child can lead a 
horse to the brook, but a giant cannot make him 
drink.’ If I have been at fault, it has been cer- 
tainly without intending to be so.” 

“Yes; Ellen told me as much, Mr. Brown,” said 
I, “and really there does not appear to be any 
ground for my remark.” 

“If there is, I am not to blame for the intention . 


John Brown's Mystery . 


Ill 


I have endeavored to cultivate ideas of economy, 
industry, and integrity in the mind of the young 
man, and I would have been greatly pleased if he 
had exhibited more cheerfulness and child-likeness; 
I will not say childishness. He was an old child 
from the beginning. Whatever may be said about 
the inheritance of mental disease, I am clearly of 
opinion that his association with his mother gave 

him that air of well, I will call it oldness , that 

he has had all along. A gravity beyond his years 
always distinguished him. I have seldom known 
of his laughing heartily at any thing. His very 
smile has a gravity about it that disturbs me. But, 
after all, I have seen not the slightest symptom of 
insanity, nor any thing akin to it, in his case. Nor 
has Dr. Bullion observed any thing, and he has what 
I have not — both the theory and the experience of 
intricate cases of mental disease. 

“Now, coming to present matters, Dr. Bullion 
has returned from Mobile, and to-morrow we shall 
need your services, for perhaps the most difficult 
task of all lies before us.” 

The moon was shining brightly when I left the 
Bower with Mr. Brown, and we appointed the Doc- 
tor’s office as the place for our meeting on the next 
day. 


112 


Lights and Shadows. 


Chapter X. 


The next morning Mr. Brown and I met at Dr. 
Bullion’s office. The old gentleman was in a radi- 
ant humor, and we were hardly seated before he 
began his story. 

“ You see, gentlemen, I used to live in a yellow 
fever country, and having had the fever twice my- 
self, I do not fear it as some doctors do. It is possi- 
ble that I might take it again, but not probable. 
Now, I have an idea that yellow fever is not indige- 
nous to our climate, but is of foreign origin. In my 
forthcoming book I propose to show that there is a 
certain spot in the Caribbean Sea wdiere a species 
of marine animal of very minute dimensions exists 
in immense quantities. Ships passing for daj 7 s 
through these beds of infusoria take them in, and 
they are nursed in the bilge-water and brought to 
our ports. When they get here, if the atmospheric 
conditions are favorable, they result in the genera- 
tion of vast numbers of bacteria which produce the 
yellow fever. Now, this being my theory, I wished 
to obtain the proofs by actual demonstration, and, 
therefore, when the fever became epidemic at New 
Orleans I got a friend to put up two or three bottles 
of the bilge-water of the vessel in quarantine from 


John Brown's Mystery. 


113 


Havana. There were several features about the 
disease that season that were new to me and to 
the profession. Formerly the negroes in this coun- 
try escaped almost entirely — this season they are as 
much or even more likely to catch the disease than 
the whites. 

.“I went down to one of the island hospitals on 
the coast, not with the view of offering my services 
as a physician, for you must understand that the 
world is not far enough advanced to tolerate our 
school of practice in the hospitals — at least, it is not 
the case in this part of the country. But I wanted 
to see these new features of the fever. Well, in 
one of these hospitals I found a negro woman, about 
sixty years old, I suppose, with a very bad case of 
fever. She had been a nurse or servant, I believe, 
in the hospital. When I first saw her she was in a 
high state of delirium, and was talking loudly. The 
first sentence I heard arrested my attention. She 
seemed to be describing a burning steam-boat, and 
every moment or two she would stop and cry out, 
4 0 my baby ! O my baby ! ’ 

“I should not have noticed this occurrence, gen- 
tlemen, but for the facts with which you are both 
acquainted. In the light of those facts, it was very 
desirable to find out something about this woman; 
and if she recovered, which then appeared very 
doubtful, I determined to see her and find out if she 


114 


Lights and Shadows . 


knew anything of the burning of the ‘City Belle.’ 
I induced the hospital managers to pay special at- 
tention to this woman, and in the course of ten or 
twelve days I was rejoiced to find her on the high- 
road to recovery. After she was pronounced con- 
valescent, I had a conversation with her, and being 
fully satisfied that she knew precisely what we have 
been trying for twenty years and more to find out, 
I paid her way on the cars to this place just as soon 
as she could work her way through the quarantine. 
This, by the way, I found no easy thing to do my- 
self. But we so managed the affair that on yester- 
day we arrived safe and sound. And if it was not 
for the fools ” 

And the Doctor looked around anxiously, as if he 
expected to be arraigned immediately for carrying 
yellow fever in his pockets. 

64 If it was not for the fools in the world — and 
here in Beechwood we have some of them — I could 
show you some of those pestiferous little rascals, the 
bacteria , that make the fever. But it can’t be done, 
gentlemen; not at present, at least, though the idea 
of yellow fever living at two thousand feet above 
the sea is preposterous. But such is the world, and 
I can only say that after frost, if you will indulge 
me with a look through my microscope, you will see 
the dreadful imps that are doing all this mischief in 
the country.” 


John Brown's Mystery . 


115 


“ Never mind the bacteria now, Doctor; let us 
hear about the 4 City Belle.’ ” 

“All right. Here, Susie, come in ! ” 

In answer to this call, a colored woman of medi- 
um height and rather above the medium in point of 
intelligence, judging from her countenance, entered 
the office. 

“Yes, sir;” she said, as she made a respectful 
courtesy to the company. 

“ Who did you say you belonged to, Susie? ” 

“To Mr. Edward Carson, sir.” 

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said the Doctor, “but 
I think we shall find out this woman’s story in less 
time by questions and answers than if we leave her 
to give it herself. Did you ever see either of these 
gentlemen, Susie?” 

“Ho, sir; I never saw them before.” 

“ You say that you belonged to Mr. Edward Car- 
son before the war? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ How long before the war was it that Mr. Carson 
died?” 

“About ten years, I think, sir.” 

“And where were you between times — I mean dur- 
ing those ten years? ” Susie was a little disconcerted 
at this question, for she hesitated and failed to answer. 

“Well, never mind,” said the Doctor, “it does 
not matter. Who was Mr. Edward Carson?” 


116 


Lights and Shadows . 


“ You mean what was he, sir? He was a lawyer, 
and a planter, and a member of Congress, sir.” 

“Very well. Do you remember how long he was 
in Congress ? ” 

“ Only two years, sir, I think.” 

“ What was his wife’s name? ” 

“ Miss Hattie Carson, sir.” 

“ Hattie Carson. Do you know what her maiden 
name was? ” 

“It was Bryson, I think, sir.” 

“Well, were you one of the house-servants in his 
family? ” 

“Yes, sir; I was Miss Hattie’s nurse.” 

“ There was a child born to them somewhere; was 
it in the country? ” 

“No, sir; the baby was born in Washington. Mr. 
Carson had three rooms in the National Hotel, sir.” 

“ Very good. Miss Hattie was fond of company, 
was n’t she? ” 

“0 yes, sir; she spent all the time going out to 
parties and balls, and such like.” 

“Do you remember how long you lived in Wash- 
ington?” 

“About eighteen months, I think, sir; but I’m 
not sure it was exactly that long — somewhere be- 
tween sixteen and eighteen months.” 

“And the baby was born, when?” 

“In February, sir — last part of February.” 


John Brown's Mystery . 


117 


“And you left there in March?” 

“ Not the next March, but the March year, sir.” 

“ Then Mr. Carson was there during two sessions 
of Congress ? ” 1 

“ Yes, sir; the long session and the short one.” 

“Did you all spend the summer in the city?” 

“No, sir; Miss Hattie went down in the summer 
to the Fort.” 

“What Fort?” 

“At Hampton, in Virginia.” 

“ Fortress Monroe, was it? ” 

“Yes, sir; I forgot the name. Miss Hattie sent 
me and the baby over to Hampton, and they staid 
at the Fort.” 

“ Exactly so* Well, you started home in March? ” 

“Yes, sir; and me and the baby went with Mr. 
Elton’s family, and Miss Hattie and Mr. Carson 
went another way.” 

“And you took a steam-boat on the route? ” 

“Yes, sir; the City Belle, at Bronson’s Landing, 
on the Kansas lliver, one Sunday evening about an 
hour by sun.” 

“ Tell us about the boat — about the burning?” 

“I heard a screaming and running on deck some 
time in the night, and saw a big light shining over- 
head, and I ketched up the baby that was asleep in 
the berth, and when I run out up-stairs, the whole 
boat was on fire. Everybody was running about, 


118 


Lights and Shadows. 


some pitching bags of cotton into the water, and some 
jumping on top of them. Bob, my fellow-sarvant, 
saw me and the baby, and he got a piece of the gang- 
plank and threw it over on two bags of cotton; some 
way, I don’t know how, we got on it, and he pushed 
us away from the boat.” 

The old woman stopped, overcome by recalling 
the scene, and the Doctor said: “ Well, that will do 
now. Have you any idea how you got to the land ? ” 

“ Ho, sir. The last thing I recollect was taking a 
piece of my old shawl and fastening the baby to the 
cotton-bag. I thought we might be washed oft* or 
turned over, and that may be the good Lord might 
save the baby anyhow. And just then the bale of 
cotton I was on tipped up, and I felt that I was 
slippin 5 off*. Then I did n’t know any thing at all 
until I found myself against a log near the bank. 
It was broad day then, and very cold, and I could 
scarcely move at all. But I crawled on the log, and 
got out to the bank in a big field they was plow- 
ing in. One of the men saw me, and took me to 
his cabin in the woods. I was mighty sick a long 
time afterward. And then ” 

m 

“ Well,” said the Doctor, “we won’t go any far- 
ther in that direction. I have no doubt, gentle- 
men,” said he, turning to us, “that the woman was 
bewildered and dazed by the accident, and not know- 
ing where she was, nor how to find her way home, 


John Brown's Mystery. 


119 


she staid on the plantation. I should like to hear 
her history up to the period of the war, but we have 
more important' matters. Well, Susie, do you think 
you would know that baby if you saw her now?” 

“ Yes, sir, I would know her.” 

“ What makes you think so? ” 

“ Because she ? s got a mark that I never saw on a 
baby, sir, before her.” 

“ You mean that you never saw a birth-mark on 
a baby ? ” 

u 0 no, sir. I mean I never saw one in the same 
place, sir.” 

“ Would you mind telling us what it is? ” 

“It ’s a strawberry, sir; a dark-red strawberry; 
and it’s right on her head, a little back of the left 
ear, sir.” 

“ Pretty good, Susie. Is there any thing else? ” 

“ I ’ve got a little apron, sir, with her name on it. 
You see all the clothes was marked at the hotel with 
’delible ink, and the baby’s apron I found in my 
pocket when I come to on the land.” 

“And you have that here? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said she ; and she drew from her pocket 
a neatly folded apron, faded and bearing the marks 
of age, but clean and preserved with great care. On 
the inner side of the band, in faint letters, but still 
distinct enough to be read by strong eyes, were the 
words “ Hattie Carson.” 


120 


Lights and Shadows . 


“ Now, gentlemen,” said the Doctor, “ are you sat- 
isfied?” 

“ Yes; a thousand times satisfied! The Lord be 
praised!” exclaimed Mr. Brown. 

“Now, Susie,” said the Doctor, “ we are going to 
take you to see a young lady, and see if you can find 
that mark. But mind, you must behave yourself, 
and do n’t let us have any scenes. Be sure, now ! ” 

“ I will, sir,” said the old woman; but she looked 
very much puzzled, for it was no part of the Doc- 
tor’s programme to tell her the meaning of these 
proceedings. 

At the house of Mr. Brown we found the young 
ladies and Mrs. Brown sitting in the porch, and the 
advent of our little company, especially the pres- 
ence of the old woman, was evidently a little odd 
to the young ladies. 

“Miss Ellen,” said the Doctor, “will you permit 
this old woman to clip a lock of that brown hair of 
yours, as a favor to me? ” 

“A lock of my hair, Doctor? Why, what does 
that mean? ” 

“Suppose I wanted to have her tell your fortune, 
Miss Ellen ? ” and the old gentleman smiled very 
pleasantly. “Come, now; she won’t take more 
than three hairs of it — that’s enough for a charm, 
you know! Come, ogre, enchantress, fairy in dis- 
guise, do your duty ! ” 


John Brown's Mystery . 


121 


The negro woman looked doubtfully around her, 
but the Doctor had magnetized her and Ellen both, 
for the young lady took her chair, and sitting down 
waited for tfie old woman with her scissors. The 
dusky lingers trembled as they touched the graceful 
head of the fair girl, and as she turned the soft locks 
aside, the full sunlight fell on the strawberry-mark! 

“Lord, have mercy! Mis3 Hattie !” exclaimed 
the old woman; and in a moment her arms were 
around Ellen’s neck, and in a moment more the 
poor negro lay insensible on the floor. 

This was a “ scene ” to be sure ! 

The ladies, all but the good matron, were hope- 
lessly bewildered by this performance, and while 
the usual process of restoration from a swoon were 
in requisition, the Doctor beckoned Miss Ellen to 
the walk in the garden, and then to the Bower, 
from whence they did not emerge for more than 
an hour. How the Doctor managed the matter 
with Ellen — in what terms he explained away the 
mystery — it is not necessary to inquire; but when 
Ellen returned, she looked pale and faint, and went 
immediately to bed. 

For myself a more difficult task remained, and a 
visit to the cottage in the afternoon must be de- 
scribed in the next chapter. 


122 


Lights and Shado)vs. 


Chapter XL 


I noticed a great change in the face of Mi\ Car- 
son when I entered his room. The sadness was 
gone, and his voice was strong and manly. For 
a moment it occurred to me that the task appoint- 
ed to me had been performed in my absence, and 
that I had nothing new to tell him. 

But he had much to tell me. 

“Mr. Heartwell,” said he, “I shall never forget 
you, I am a poor, miserable sinner — that is, I 
was — — ” 

He turned upon me with a look that I shall not 
forget. 

“ I have been living a life of ingratitude and sin- 
ful negligence against my greatest earthly friend, 
and against my kind Heavenly Father. O I see 
it now ! I see it now ! ” 

It was not yet quite clear to my mind, the pur- 
port of his words, but I suffered him to proceed. 

“ Yes! in two lines of the blessed gospel I have 
found the remedy for all my sorrows! When you 
left me yesterday, I took up this Bible to read the 
eleventh of Matthew, as you directed me. It was 
a familiar passage. I had read it a hundred times, 
probably, but I have never read the book as I now 


John Brown's Mystery. 


123 


see it ought to be reach I never saw the connec- 
tion between the narrative in the first part of this 
chapter and the exhortation in the latter part of it. 

“ The Baptist was in doubt. Who could clear it 
up? Why, of course none but the Master himself. 
So I was in doubt. There was scarcely any thing 
that was not in doubt. I questioned the reality of 
every thing around me and about me. The whole 
world was in a mist. Now, if I have a soul, and it 
must live forever, and this 4 horror of great dark- 
ness’ is to be my portion here, what must it be for- 
ever hereafter? Is there any thing that I do be- 
lieve? Yes! my heart answered me. I believe in 
God. Then there came from somewhere — I care not 
where they came from — the words, 4 Ye believe in God, 
believe also in ME.’ Instantly I grasped that thought. 
It is the language of Christ, and my soul answered 
back, Wes, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbe- 
lief.’ Then came the precious words of your les- 
son, ‘ Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy- 
laden, and I will give you rest .’ Then I said : / Lord, 
I come. I have labored long in darkness, doubt, 
and sorrow. I am heavy-laden. Give me thy rest.’ 
And there came a sweet peace upon my soul, and a 
balmy breath as if from the hills of paradise breathed 
upon my soul these words: 4 1 will; enter into rest.’ 

“0 sir!” he exclaimed, “ the hand of the great 
God touched every article of furniture in this room, 


124 


Lights and Shadows . 


and the walls and the ceiling, and the very air, shone 
with a luminous beauty like a sunset in Eden. My 
heart was full of music. Melodies seemed to spring 
up within me, as if a thousand harps and soft, sweet 
lutes breathed forth a wonderful symphony that w T as 
full of joy unspeakable ! What does it mean ? ” 

“That you are converted, my friend; that’s all. 
That is what w T e call religion .” 

“God be praised!” he shouted, and clapped his 
hands, whilst a seraphic beauty lit up his face. 

“ Call it heaven ! ” said he. 

“ It is the beginning of it,” I replied; and we were 
clasped in each other’s arms, whilst his manly form 
thrilled with an emotion which no pen, no tongue 
can describe. For several minutes we stood thus 
in blissful silence, and then he sunk back upon his 
couch, whilst I sung 

How happy are they who their Saviour obey, 

And have laid up their treasures above ! 

Tongue cannot express the sweet comfort and peace 
Of a soul in its earliest love !” 

“ 0 the music ! the music ! ” he exclaimed, as the 
great tears came raining down his face. “I never 
heard such music before.” 

Reader, have you ever witnessed a scene like this? 
If you have, it is needless to describe it further; if 
you have not , it would be useless. You cannot un- 
derstand it. The birthplace of a soul is honored 


John Brown's Mystery . 


125 


by the presence of the Shining Ones from the “ balm- 
breathing gardens of God,” and the very air is laden 
with the perfumes from the flowers of the fadeless 
Eden. 

An hour passed away before my young friend was 
calm enough to hear the purpose of my visit. But 
I felt the load of anxiety removed, and the way pre- 
pared for me by the Spirit of the Master. 

The young man listened as if he were in a blissful 
dream, but fully comprehending it all; and I was in 
the act of telling him the last words of the glad news, 
when the door opened, and Ellen came rushing to the 
bedside, and clasping him around the neck, in smiles 
and tears, exclaimed, “ My brother ! 0 my brother ! ” 

The place was too sacred then for any mere spec- 
tator, and I quietly slipped through the open door, 
and left them to the supreme delights of their first 
meeting. 


126 


Lights and Shadows. 


Chapter XII. 


A few days after the events of the last chapter, I 
took a stroll with James through the shady lawn 
which bounded the possessions of Mr. Brown on 
the western slope of the hill. He was . calm and 
unexcited then, as he recounted to me the causes 
of his recent illness. He had discovered several 
important facts since I saw him last. His curiosity 
had prevailed over his prudence in the matter of the 
sealed book, and at the risk of detection he had ex- 
amined the whole record. He found there not only 
a full statement of the affairs of his father’s estate, 
kept with strict regularity — the increase noted, 
and the bank charged with it — but his own salary 
was debited to the bank, and the accounts were all 
clear and easily understood. Mr. Brown acknowl- 
edged his indebtedness to his nephew in the sum of 
forty thousand dollars and upward ! This revela- 
tion was followed by another. He was in error as 
to the fraud committed by the old lady. His sus- 
picious temperament had given a wrong construc- 
tion to a transaction which possessed in reality no 
features of a fraud, but his imperfect knowledge of 
the business relations of the parties had misled him. 

His acute sensibilities on making these discover- 


John Brown's Mystery. 


127 


ies were more than his overtaxed system could bear. 
How to find relief he knew not. It was then that 
his mind turned upon itself, and saw in his own 
heart the cause of all his troubles. He resolved 
to unbosom himself to me, and to follow my ad- 
vice. 

How that the whole face of affairs was changed, 
we could read the mystery of John Brown and his 
family. The hopes, fears, and dangers that were 
bound up in the history of Ellen, under the well- 
intentioned advice of Dr. Bullion, had caused all 
the trouble. The intense anxiety which James saw 
in the family, and which he construed to be a scheme 
to marry him to Ellen, was indeed occasioned by the 
fear of such a calamity. The impossibility, as it 
seemed, of determining the question of her birth 
was the prolific cause of the complication which 
came near making a wreck of the entire family. 
That James Carson had been preserved from the 
commission of a crime was due, in the first place, 
to the restlessness which brought him to my church 
on that Sunday night, and the strange providence 
that shaped my thoughts and gave me, whilst the 
young stranger was coming to the house of God, a 
message to his conscience. A single sentence on 
that Sunday night changed the wdiole tenor of his 
life, and brought him in the end to “that rest that 
remains for the people of God.” 


128 


Lights and Shadows. 


Ten months elapsed before I visited Beechwood 
again. This time my mission was a very brief one. 
It was told in the Beechwood Gazette , in the follow- 
ing words: 

A DOUBLE MAEEIAGE. 

On Thursday evening, 14th instant, at the residence of John 
Brown, Esq., by the Eev. Henry Heartwell, assisted by the Eev. 
Thomas Elliott, Mr, James Carson to Miss Laura Brown, and Mr. 
Henry H. Heartwell to Miss Ellen Carson. 

After the usual congratulations, and the fatherly 
kiss for my new daughter, I said: “So, Ellen, after 
all, the rose you gave me was, like all the rest of my 
flowers — a bribe.” 

“ And I think, Mr. Heartwell,” said James, as he 
held the hand of his beautiful bride, “you will never 
preach a better sermon than the one I heard in your 
church in Quincy on that hot Sunday night in June.” 

Perhaps not. 



JONATHAN SHELBY. 


“ T T 7110 is that venerable gentleman that occu- 
V V pies the pew in the corner over there by 
the window? ” 

The question was propounded by me, as I made 
a tour of inspection of my new church, whose pul- 
pit I had occupied the day before for the first time. 
I was speaking to Doctor Post, the principal officer 
of the church, who was intimately acquainted with 
everybody in my new parish. 

“I am not sure that I know who it is you mean,” 
said he. 

“A venerable-looking man, with white locks, a 
high forehead, and a remarkable face. There was 
something that impressed me as I looked over the 
audience, and my eyes rested upon that man as a 
notable character of some kind. I cannot say pre- 
cisely what it was about him that impressed me, 
but his whole contour — face, form, and manners — I 
cannot keep out of my mind.” 

“I perceive that you have some faith in physiog- 
nomy, after all,” said the Doctor, smiling; “ for you 
have certainly singled out the most remarkable man 
in your parish.” 

9 


( 129 ) 


130 


Lights and Shadows , 


“Well, what is he? One of the Members? 55 

“0 no! He was never in political life. In fact, 
he is one of the oldest inhabitants of the metropo- 
lis; 5 

“Ah! he is the President of the 4 Oldest Inhabit- 
ant Society/ then? 55 

“Ho, not that, either. He has never joined the 
Association, although by virtue of residence he out- 
ranks them all.” 

“Well, he is a literary man, then? An author, 
artist, what? 55 

“Nothing of the kind, my dear sir. He is not 
even a Colonel, strange as it may seem; and he was 
never a seeker after office, which is stranger still. 
He is a reformed gambler! 55 

“A reformed gambler ! ” 

“Yes, and the history of that man’s life would 
make the best answer to Tyndall, Huxley, Darwin 
& Co. that could be written. 55 

“How you interest me, indeed. What does he 
do?” 

“He keeps a shop down on Fourth street; deals 
in second-hand furniture, old brass andirons, bric-a- 
brac, and what not.” 

“And he was once a gambler? 55 

“Yes; and I will give you as briefly as I can the 
outlines of his history. Let us go down to your 
office, and we will be more comfortable. I see the 


Jonathan Shelby. 


131 


sexton coming with his broom, and we shall be in 
a cloud of dust presently.” 

“And now,” said the Doctor, as he touched a 
match to his cigar, “ I must tell you about Jonathan 
Shelby, for that is the name of the man you have 
pointed out to me. His father was a drunkard, and 
died, leaving one son and a widow in very reduced 
circumstances. There had been a good estate in the 
family, but strong drink will make away with any 
man’s fortune; and the lad, at the age of seventeen, 
found himself with very little education, no money, 
and a mother to provide for. In those days the Cap- 
ital was a sort of Mecca, toward which the eyes of 
all the faithful were turned, because it was believed 
that every man in the nation had a right to make a 
living in Washington. 

“ Like many others, he came here to get something 
to do. He left his mother on a farm, paying board, 
and brought to the city nothing more than a change 
of clothes. He had no knowledge of any kind of 
business, but he had a willing heart and strong 
hands, and brought with him besides a solemn 
promise made to his mother that he would never, 
under any circumstances, touch one drop of liquor. 

“ It was up-hill business, you may depend on it, 
in those days, as it is in ours, to make an honest 
living here, especially in the case of a lad who had 
no influential friends to intercede for him, and no 


132 


Lights and Shadows . 


trade of any kind. But be managed to get some- 
thing to do — I believe in a livery-stable, as a com- 
mon servant at the beginning. Wages were but 
little, and the old mother was to be maintained, 
and he did his best. He slept in the hay -loft, 
dined upon crackers and cheese, and only once a 
month or so indulged in the luxury of a cup of 
coffee, that he might send the small amount of 
money to his mother at the end of the month. 
The years passed away, and when he was about 
twenty-five his old mother died. Her death was 
sudden, and the poor fellow made the journey on 
foot to the farm-house, where she was only a sort 
of privileged boarder, and walked back from the 
funeral with a bill for burial expenses that swal- 
lowed up several months’ wages. 

“ How it happened I cannot tell, but the pressure 
was so severe upon him that he drifted by degrees 
into gaming, and finally adopted it as his sole em- 
ployment. "What stories he could tell you if he would 
about some of the famous characters that have fig- 
ured in the history of this country ! But he will do 
nothing of the kind. He was familiar with every 
form of the vice. From the hazard of a dime to 
stakes of a hundred thousand dollars, he lost and 
won for more than thirty years. Sometimes rich- 
able to buy the finest residence in town — perhaps 
the next day he had not money enough to buy a 


Jonathan Shelby. 


133 


plate of soup! But in all fortunes, good or bad, he 
was always the same quiet, imperturbable, unexcit- 
ed player. Fortune did not turn his head to extrav- 
agances, and the loss of the last dollar never drove 
him to violate his temperance pledge. Surrounded 
by every conceivable inducement, the subject of a 
thousand ingenious schemes to circumvent him, and 
to betray him into breaking his promise, he with- 
stood them all, and escaped out of the toils of his 
tempters. Upon no other subject did he have any 
moral scruples. Every vice in the catalogue he 
committed, but drink he would not. 

“ In course of time, when about thirty years of 
age, long after he had become notorious as a com- 
mon gambler, he married a wife, and, strange to say, 
she was a woman of good standing and of unimpeach- 
able character. She knew what he was, and how 
he obtained a living, but married him in spite of 
every protest of her friends. As far as I know, she 
has made him a faithful, excellent wife, and is still 
living. 

“In one of his 6 sporting 5 trips to a neighboring 
city, he saw a young woman that took his fancy, 
and a mock ceremony was performed by a confed- 
erate, who counterfeited a clergyman, and, for a 
time, he had a wife here and another a hundred 
miles away. But it was not long before the North- 
ern wife discovered the fraud and followed him to 


134 


Lights and Shadows. 


this city. How it was managed I know not, but 
the affair resulted in the setting up of two establish- 
ments, which he maintained in different quarters 
of the town, upon the same scale as to style of liv- 
ing. Whatever was procured for one family was 
provided for the other, and two sets of children 
were reared in the best manner probably that such 
an anomalous arrangement could possibly be carried 
out. 

“As to Shelby himself, in the line of his pursuits 
no man was more popular, and none had stronger 
friends or more willing ‘ backers.’ He was never 
known to have a personal difficulty, or even a seri- 
ous dispute of any kind. Indeed, in those days 
gambling was a very venial offense in the eyes of 
the public. A ‘good fellow’ who was reasonably 
liberal with his money might, as many did, enter 
the best families, and spend leisure evenings in the 
6 society’ parlors, from which they adjourned to ‘fight 
the tiger,’ or to ‘run a bank,’ as the case might be. 

“ But Shelby never went into any circles but those 
into which his business carried him. From the gam- 
ing-table to one of his homes, and from the home 
fireside to his game of chance — this was the perpet- 
ual round from January to December. As a physi- 
cian I made his acquaintance, and found him strictly 
honorable and prompt in all his dealings. His an- 
tipathy to liquor, or what I supposed to be such, 


Jonathan Shelby „ 


135 


came to my notice in one of his spells of sickness. 
I could not induce him to touch a drop in any form, 
lie would give me at that time no reason, but drink 
ardent spirits he would not. 

“One Sunday morning, nearly twenty years ago, 
I met him on the street, about half- past ten 
o’clock. I know not what prompted me to do 
it, but I said to him, 4 Come, Shelby; go with me 
to church.’ 

Church!’ said he, with unfeigned surprise. 
6 Why I haven’t been inside of a church in 
twenty -five years! ’ 

“‘No matter,’ said I; ‘come, go to-day.’ 

“He looked at me very scrutinizingly for several 
moments, then at his clothes, which were good 
enough in all respects; and he seemed to be satis- 
fied with his examination, for he said, in a very 
bluff, resolute way, ‘ I believe I will.’ 

“And so he and I went to church. It was not 
this building, but the old one that stood there on the 
other side of the street. We entered the church 
after service began, and took our places near the 
door. I felt very curious, sitting by the side of the 
gambler — not at all comfortable, in fact, for we were 
both well known to the members of the congrega- 
tion. I, as a new recruit in the service, and he — 
well, very far from being a Church-member. And, 
I may say, he is not one yet.” 


136 


Lights and Shadows. 


“ How ! ” I exclaimed ; “ I thought you said he was 
reformed ” 

“ Hold, Mr. Heartwell ; let me finish my story. 
I really believe that Shelby did not take his eyes off 
the countenance of the preacher from the beginning 
to the end of that sermon. After it was over, I 
noticed some of the people — and some, as he after- 
ward told me, that he had met in a far different 
place; well, everybody, in fact, gave us a wide berth. 
But I expected that. Right or wrong, it is human 
nature. As soon as we got out into the street, and 
a little removed from the stream of passers, I asked 
him how he liked the sermon ? 

“ 4 Pretty well,’ he replied, and said no more. Our 
ways diverged, and I saw him no more for a week. 
On the next Sunday, as I passed in at the door of 
the little church, the first man I saw was Shelby, 
in the same pew. A thought occurred to me — for 
I was going farther up to my own pew — and I 
stopped, and took my place by his side. He whis- 
pered as I sat down, ‘Come again ! ’ 

“ 4 Good/ said I; and we listened to the discourse, 
and took our departure pretty much as the Sunday 
before; the same question, and the same answer, 

4 Pretty good.’ 

“The next Sunday and the next, Shelby and I 
occupied the pew near the door, until I managed to 
induce him to go higher up. With intense interest 


Jonathan Shelby . 


137 


he watched every movement, and observed every 
word of the preacher. About two months after 
these visits to the church began, I was passing 
down Fourth street, and saw my friend Shelby 
standing at the door of a junk-shop — an establish- 
ment that dealt in a respectable class of goods — and 
I stopped to speak with him.- 

“‘ Bought him out,’ said he, in his laconic way; 
6 no more gambling.’ 

“ I congratulated him upon his resolution; but he 
did not seem disposed to talk much, so I wished him 
well in his new business, and resolved to turn any 
little traffic that came in my way into his hands. 
My opportunities were good, and I mentioned the 
matter to other friends, and Shelby soon had quite 
a thriving trade. Meantime, he had occupied my 
pew at church. One Sunday, just as the minister 
was in the act of dismissing the congregation, Shel- 
by rose to his feet. 

“‘Friends!’ he exclaimed, while the great tears 
literally rained down his cheeks and fell on the 
back of the pew in front of him in pattering drops. 
‘You all know what I have been ; God only knows 
what I will be — but, God helping me, I am resolved 
to be a Christian.’ 

“He said no more — and no more needed to be 
said. It was putting the past, the present, and the 
future in one sentence. Amid the profoundest, 


138 


Lights and Shadows. 


deepest feeling I ever saw in a church in my life, we 
were dismissed that day. Many came forward to 
shake him by the hand, but he seemed rather to 
shrink from contact with them, at the same time 
that he looked a gratitude and thankfulness far be- 
yond the power of words to express. 

“ He was always a man of few words. His inten- 
tions were known only by his actions. It leaked 
out, however, that before his little speech at the 
church he had visited the two families that were 
supported by him, and made his arrangements. He 
could not consent to repudiate the obligations that 
he owed to the poor woman he had deceived. As 
long as he could make a dollar she would be pro- 
vided for. Her children should be taken care of, 
and whilst the former sinful relationship w T as at an 
end, only in this one respect would he show any dif- 
ference between the two families. And he has kept 
his word to this day, for nearly twenty years.” 

“And you tell me his name is not on the church- 
register ? ” 

“ Look, Mr. Heartwell, and see. If it is there, it 
has not been with his consent, I assure you.” 

“Hut I see him at the communion-table — both 
times I have been here. Yesterday I adminis- 
tered; some months ago I remember that I as- 
sisted the pastor, and observed him at the com- 
munion-rail. ” 


Jonathan Shelby . 


139 


“ Yes, my friend — and would you refuse the cup 
of the Lord to him?” 

“I? No, indeed.” 

“ His name is on the other book,” said the Doctor, 
pointing upward. 

“ Strange, strange,” I said musingly; “why does 
he not join the Church?” 

“ Pray, do not ask him that question when you 
see him. You will wound his feelings. I tell you, 
Mr. Heart well, that old man is the most eloquent 
preacher of the gospel that this town or country 
affords. Ask your people what they think of him. 
Stop any man on the street, any resident of this 
city; put the question, 4 What do you think of 
Jonathan Shelby ? 5 I tell you, sir; his life for 
twenty years past has been a sermon. You will 
never hear him in the church-meeting boasting of 
his former wickedness, and making comparisons 
with his present life and holiness. Never a word 
of it. When he speaks of himself it is with a hu- 
mility so profound, so penetrating in its thorough 
sincerity, that you feel his words going through you 
like a dart from the quiver of truth . 55 

The Doctor had long since finished his cigar, 
and promising to give me more “points 55 another 
time, departed. 

I was very anxious for a conversation with Mr. 
Shelby. Indeed, there was more than a mere curi- 


140 


Lights and Shadows . 


osity in the matter. I felt that I would like very 
much to know more of the man — from his own lips 
I mean, for I heard from others enough to form a 
volume. All corroborated the account of my friend 
the Doctor, and I never entered the pulpit without 
looking for the white-haired man in the corner. He 
was always there, and often I saw the tears rolling 
down his cheeks. But by some unfortunate con- 
currence of events, or rather a displacement of 
events, I could not enjoy the opportunity I sought. 

It so happened that I was called away a day’s 
ride in the country to dedicate a church. To go 
by railway was somewhat inconvenient, owing to 
the fact that my destination was some distance from 
the station. Ho other arrangement, however, was 
practicable, and I took the morning train. On my 
return home I learned that he had sent me a mes- 
sage, and had called for me with a buggy, a few 
minutes after I had left the depot. 

Then it was evident that Jonathan Shelby wished 
to see and talk with me. Yes; there was a note on 
my table, dated on the morning of my departure, in 
which he expressed a desire to have a “long talk” 
with me. I read it that night, and resolved to see 
him the following day. After glancing over the 
pages of my morning paper the next day, I put 
on my hat, intending to go by the shop and make 
an appointment with him. At the door I met one 


Jonathan Shelby. 


141 


of my friends, who said, “Have you heard the news 
about Brother Shelby?” 

“Ho; what is it? Is he sick?” 

“ Last night he retired to his room rather earlier 
than usual; about ten o’clock one of the family 
heard him walking about. This morning, not com- 
ing down to breakfast, they opened the door, and 
found him on his knees, with his hands clasped in 
prayer.” 

Jonathan Shelby was dead! 



LUCY DALTON. 


u ALL at No. 43 State street.” 

\^y The card lay on my table when I returned 
from a morning visit to a sick friend. It was still 
comparatively early, and State street was only a few 
blocks away, so I went to the place at once. An old 
lady answered the door-bell. 

“ Lucy is better this morning,’ sir — at least we 
hope so; and she will be glad to see you. I be- 
lieve,” said she, putting on her glasses, and giving 
me an inquiring look, “you are the new minis- 
ter?” 

“ Yes, madam; and you ” 

“ I am Lucy’s mother, sir. Up-stairs, first door to 
your right;” and she showed me the way to the sick- 
room. 

I found a young girl, probably less than twenty 
years of age, and remarkably beautiful, lying on her 
bed, sad and suffering. 

“ This is Mr. Ileartwell ? ” 

“ That is my name, Lucy; your new pastor.” 

“ I am glad to see you. Perhaps no one has told 
you about my case, as you have been in the city 

only a few weeks.” 

( 142 ) 


Lucy Dalton , 


143 


“ I have heard only within two or three days 
that you were ill, Lucy. I hope you will soon he 
well.” 

“ O no, sir,” she said, very calmly but very posi- 
tively. “ I shall never be well, Mr. Heartwell. I 
shall never rise out of this bed, and will only leave 
the room to be carried to my long home.” 

“ Gome, my young friend,” X replied, “this will 
not do for sick people. Despondency, you know, is 
worse than the disease, in many cases. Keep up a 
cheerful spirit, and hope for the best.” 

“Then I am sure you have never heard of my 
case, Mr. Heartwell. There is no hope for me. The 
physician has just told me so, not an hour ago; 
but I knew it well enough months ago. Mine is 
not an ordinary case. I am dying of cancer,” 

“Ah, my poor child!” I exclaimed, “that is sad 
news, surely.” 

“Not that I am dying, sir. It is not that that 
makes me sad. It is because I am not prepared to 
die. The world is very beautiful to many, I sup- 
pose. I have no special difficulty in giving it up. 
I have found its pleasures worth but little after all, 
and I could freely give them up, and part with all 
the hopes of this life, if I were only sure of the life 
to come.” 

“ Well, my child, if it must be so, and in the fresh 
young morning of life you must be taken, it is a 


144 


Lights and Shadows. 


merciful thing in our Heavenly Father to give you 
time to prepare for the change.” 

“0 sir, I have been trying to live as a Christian 
ought ever since I was ten years old, but 0 how I 
have failed!” 

“ Indeed! you have been trying since you were 
ten years old, and have failed? How is that, Lucy? 
I do not understand you.” 

“Why, sir, when I was ten years of age, I joined 
the Church, and I thought then I was converted, 
and I am sure now that I was, but my life has been 
a failure.” 

“ Do not say that, Lucy. How can you tell wheth- 
er your life has been a failure or not? We are 
not proper judges in such matters. It may be 
that you have been of more service to the world 
than you suppose.” 

“ But I know this, Mr. Ileartwell. When I look 
back over my past life, I see that I have done little 
or nothing for Christ and his Chfrrch. What little 
I have done is so imperfect, and I feel so unworthy, 
that I cannot pray as I used to do. It seems to me 
that my prayers are only mockeries, living as I have, 
and so utterly useless.” 

“ Well, my child,” said I, “ as I do not know what 
your past life has been, I cannot contradict you, but 
none of us can expect to get to heaven through our 
own works; if we could, we would have no use for 


Lucy Dalton. 


145 


Christ. If we are great sinners, he is a great Sav- 
iour.” 

“ Yes,” she answered, “ for those who have made 
a right use of their time and opportunities, but I 
have thrown all of mine away. O sir, it is a failure, 
a hopeless failure, and I am lost! ” 

“ Say not so, Lucy. That is equivalent to an ar- 
raignment of the mercy and goodness of God, and 
a complaint against Christ, your Redeemer. There 
is no work of love and mercy that he cannot do.” 

She was silent for some moments, and I felt some- 
what perplexed. I did not know her history. Her 
name had only been mentioned incidentally, as upon 
the sick-list, a few days before, and I had no in- 
formation about her. Until I had time to make in- 
quiries, I felt that all that I could do would be mere 
guess-work. She was too well informed with re- 
gard to the duties and responsibilities of Christian 
life, and was too well prepared with an answer for 
every argument that I offered, to allow me any hope 
of directing her mind profitably at that time. I 
learned that she had been on her sick-bed for near- 
ly a year, and was now utterly unable to walk; in- 
deed, she could only bear the fatigue of sitting up 
a short time in the*early morning. Frequent spells 
of faintness and nausea rendering the hours of the 
afternoon an impracticable time for visiting her, I 

appointed the next morning at ten o’clock for my 
10 


146 


Lights and Shadows. 


second visit. I was apprehensive that my presence 
had a tendency to increase her mental excitement 
and anxiety; so, after reading a short passage of 
Scripture, and offering prayer, I retired. 

It was a very easy matter to obtain the informa- 
tion I desired about Lucy Dalton. Almost every- 
body knew her. The first person I addressed was 
very much surprised when I asked if Lucy had borne 
a fair Christian character. 

“My dear, sir,” said Dr. Post, “she is one of the 
purest, the best, most angelic beings I have ever 
known. A Christian life! I only wish that I could 
ever be as good a Christian as she has always been. 
She was born a Christian. Meek, gentle, consid- 
erate, and kind to everybody. She has been a 
teacher in the Sunday-school since she was sixteen 
years of age, and although her old father was a 
tyrant and a brute, and kept her mother from 
uniting with the Church, he could never influence 
Lucy in the slightest degree. She is an angel of 
goodness, Mr. Heartwell.” 

And this was the testimony wherever I went. 
Her father had threatened to turn her out-of-doors, 
and, it was rumored, had actually whipped her when 
a child, to make her promise t@ leave the Church 
and the Sunday-school, but in vain. She gave him 
no impertinent word — said nothing complainingly 
to others about his unkindness, but kept on her 


Lucy Dalton. 


347 


way quietly, regularly occupying her place at every 
service. 

On my next visit I was armed, as I thought, for a 
prevailing argument. Alas! I was in error. She 
was the better logician of the two, and whatever 
proof I advanced she met me with another and a 
stronger from the opposite side. I think she was 
better skilled in Christian casuistry than any person 
I have ever met. Every good work, every good ac- 
tion, even the exercises of devotion, she demonstrated 
to be the offspring of a sinful selfishness which showed 
how far removed, hopelessly removed, she was from 
the kingdom of God. 

Her distress was painful to witness. Wringing 
her lily-white hands, and looking upward with 
an imploring and yet despairing earnestness that 
touched every chord of sensitiveness in my soul, 
she pleaded for divine forgiveness, and then turning 
away with an awful look of hopelessness, for sheer 
want of strength she subsided into silence. For 
several minutes I was utterly at a loss. I had never 
met a case like this one. 

In whatever direction I endeavored to turn her 
thoughts, she met me with the language of Script- 
ure, accusing herself of unpardonable sins. At 
length a happy thought occurred to me. It might 
not relieve her distress permanently, but it would 
divert her mind for awhile. I asked her under 


148 


Lights and Shadows . 


whose ministry she had received her impressions of 
Christian duty. She told me readily. For several 
years she had been striving to follow the narrow 
path which was pointed out to her. It was a very 
narrow path, indeed. I knew too well my own obli- 
gations as a minister to endeavor to enter into con- 
troversy upon questions of the kind in which her 
mind had been exercised. She had been for these 
long years encamped under the shadow of Mount 
Sinai. The law! the law! The imperative, un- 
changeable, eternal utterances of the law of God 
rung in her ears, and the thunders of the wrath re- 
served for the evil-doer terrified her soul. ' Com- 
pared with the perfect law of God, her life was a 
failure; without obedience to that law, there was no 
hope of her salvation. 

I saw that my young friend must work out the 
problem chiefly by herself. I could, at most, only fur- 
nish one or two incidental helps toward the work. 
The happy thought shaped itself in this way: 

“Lucy,” said I, “it does not fatigue you to 
read? ” 

“Hot at all,” she answered; “I have read the 
Hew Testament through five times since I have 
been ill.” 

“Well, promise me that you will read the four 
Gospels through one time more; will you?” 

“ Certainly 1 will,” said she. 


Lucy Dalton . 


149 


“And now, I do not propose to visit you until the 
latter part of next week. That will give you nearly 
ten days to complete the reading. Do you think 
you can do it in that time? ” 

“I think I can, Mr. Heartwell. My spells of faint- 
ness do not come on as early in the afternoon as 
they did last week — and, if you have a purpose in 
it, I can refuse to see anybody in the morning un- 
til I am through the reading.” 

“Very good — that is a wise suggestion. Do not 
talk to anyone about your religious experience. I 
have a purpose in asking this. You will see it after 
awhile.” 

“I will do as you wish, Mr. Heartwell,” she an- 
swered. 

“N ow, then, I wish you to read the life of Jesus, as 
it is recorded in the four Gospels, and I wish you to 
read it with a view to this question: Did the Lord 
Jesus, on any occasion, when a person came to him 
to be cured of any disease, or to be released from 
the bondage of any infirmity — did he ever ask the 
applicant, or any of his friends, about his previous 
career of sin and wickedness? In other words, did 
Jesus ever inquire concerning the antecedents of any- 
body who wanted his help? Now, when you have 
found that case, please make a note of it; mark the 
place, and we will study it together, and see if there 
is any light to be found upon that subject.” 


150 


Lights and Shadows . 


She readily agreed to do so, and I left her shortly 
after. 

I did not visit her until the appointed time. It 
was a beautiful morning in June. The trees were 
in the full glory of the early summer, and flowers 
were blooming everywhere. When I approached 
the house, I saw the window of her room open, and 
I fancied that I caught a glimpse of the sufferer in 
her easy-chair near by. On entering the room, I 
found it so. She sat by the window, and extended 
her thin white hand whilst a pleasant smile illumined 
her beautiful face. 

“OMr. Ileartwell! ” she exclaimed, “ I have found 
you out. There is no such case. He never con- 
demned anybody before he blessed him.” 

‘‘Indeed!” I answered; “then he never con- 
demned him at all. Do you not see what I am 
after, Lucy ? ” 

“ Thanks be to God, I do!” And the tears filled 
her eyes, as she turned toward me the most grateful 
countenance I ever saw. 

“Ah ! Lucy, I wanted you to get away from Sinai 
and come to Calvary.” 

“ Yes, yes! ” she exclaimed. “ Why did I not see 
it before? ” 

“Never mind about that. You see it now, and 
that is enough.” 

“0 Mr. Heartwell, next to the blessed Christ 


Lucy Dalton . 


151 


himself, I am indebted to you. How can I repay 
you?” 

“By saying no more about what I have done, 
Lucy, unless you give the praise to Christ himself, 
for I am sure it was his good spirit that gave me the 
thought, and made me a messenger to you.” 

I spent many hours with my young friend after 
that. And if there was any improvement in my 
pulpit during those months — if my heart was ten- 
derer, and the precious consolations of divine truth 
came with more fervor than was usual — my people 
owed it to the moments I spent with the fading 
flower that was shedding the aroma of its short 
summer life and passing away in the cottage on 
State street. It was a blessed privilege to be with 
her, and listen to her gracious words. Poetical gifts 
she had in a large degree, and for an hour I have 
heard her speak of the sublime truths of the gospel 
until she became the minister, and I the learner, glad 
to be favored with the high privilege of communing 
with one who was so soon to be in the City of God, 
and walking in the beautiful gardens of paradise. 

One morning in the early autumn I paid my cus- 
tomary visit, but Lucy was too ill to see me. The 
next day I came again. She was dead. Dead? 
Ho! she had moved from the white cottage in the 
dusty street, and entered her mansion in the skies, 
to be “ forever with the Lord.” 


ONE GLASS OF SWEET MILK, 



AS not the death very sudden?” 


V V “It was indeed, sir. He was at dinner, 
apparently in good health, at six o’clock yesterday, 
and died before midnight last night.” 

“And his family — are they here?” 

“A wife and six children, the oldest not yet seven- 
teen. It is a sad case, and I fear he has left little or 
nothing for their support. He was free-handed, hon- 
est, and attended to all his public duties faithfully; 
and when I say that he neglected his profession to 
serve his constituents, you know enough of life here , 
and of the claims upon a Congressman, to know that 
he could not lay by very much for the rainy day.” 

“ True enough,” said the Chaplain to the Com- 
mittee-man; “ but the people look at the large sum 
paid as salaries, and think their representatives are 
obliged to grow rich in their service. They do not 
know the drafts upon the purse that leave, when all 
is given and paid, very little to put on the right side 
of the ledger.” 

“And our friend Sims is not to have a funeral at 
the Capitol; it will be at the hotel, at three o’clock 
this afternoon.” 


(152) 


One Glass of Sweet Milk. 


153 


The speaker was interrupted by a rap at the door. 
A lady, whose white hair was in strong contrast with 
features yet possessing some of the charms of mature 
middle age, entered the room, and handed a note to 
the Chaplain. The minister read it carefully, and 
said to the lady: “ The writer of this note is labor- 
ing under a misapprehension, madam. I have 
nothing whatever to do with making or securing 
appointments in the Government service. My con- 
nection with this Administration is purely minis- 
terial, and I have neither the right nor the disposi- 
tion to exercise any ‘influence’ in favor of anyone. 
I am sorry that I cannot aid you in this matter, but 
there is no hope for it.” 

“0 sir, do not say that!” exclaimed the woman 
in tones of unquestionable distress; “I have been 
disappointed and trifled with everywhere else, and 
my last hope is in you.” 

“But, madam,” the Chaplain answered, “you 
cannot expect me to compromise myself, and un- 
dertake a mission that belongs to politicians, and 
to them only? I have every disposition to comply 
with your wishes, if I could do so in justice to my- 
self, or with advantage to you. But these clerkships 
are obtained upon the recommendation of the mem- 
bers of Congress, and from those chiefly who are in 
sympathy with the party in power. If you could 
get the Representative from your district to accom- 


154 


Lights and Shadows* 


pany you to the office of the Secretary, a place 
might be - obtained for your son.” 

“Alas, sir!” she answered; “the man you mention, 
the Representative, has declined to do any thing at 
all. He says that he is besieged by more than a 
hundred persons in search of Government places, 
and he has no influence whatever with this Admin- 
istration.” 

“And I have no doubt that he tells you the plain 
truth,” said the Chaplain; “and you ought to honor 
him for his candor.” 

“As to that, sir, I cannot say* But what shall I 
do? Must we starve ? ” 

“I hope not, madam; surely there is something 
for your son to do in the neighborhood where he is 
known. Here I must be as candid as the Represent- 
ative you have mentioned — the chances are a thou- 
sand to one against you, and all the 4 recommenda- 
tions ’ that you may obtain will avail nothing. They 
will be 6 pigeon-holed 5 by thesubordinates, and never 
come to the sight of the chief of the department; 
and if they did, it is not sufficient that the applicant 
should be worthy and well qualified, and needy, and 
all that — there must be a political reason for his ap- 
pointment, and that alone will guarantee success.” 

“ Then I am ruined, sir — for my boy was a Con- 
federate soldier.” 

“ That will certainly militate against him; and if 


One Glass of Sweet Milk . 


155 


his present political status is hostile to the party in 
power, I do not see that any ‘influence 5 can give 
you the shadow of hope . 55 

The lady rose from her chair* and was turning 
away, when the minister said: “If you will leave 
your card, madam, with your present address in the 
city, I will speak to Mr. C., the Member from your 
district, and see if he has any friend that can be of 
service to you. But I cannot encourage you to 
hope .* 5 

She wrote the street and number of her stop- 
ping-place, and bidding the minister good-morn- 
ing, departed. 

“ This is a sad life, Mr. Williams ! 55 exclaimed the 
Chaplain, as the Member from the Tenth District 
came forward from the recess into which he had re- 
tired, when the lady entered. “This is the saddest 
life I have ever known. I am tempted to give it 
up, and retreat into a more, private sphere. I am 
helpless, and impotent to serve any of these scores 
that are coming to me daily, and making appeals 
that would melt a heart of stone, if it were possible.” 

“Do you know that lady ? 55 asked Mr. Williams. 

“From reputation, very well; but I never saw 
her but once before her visit this morning. Did 
you see the expression upon her face? ” 

“I did, and for that reason I asked if you knew 
her. She does not seem to be one of the common 


156 


Lights and Shadows . 


herd that strive to prey upon the Government in 
order to escape honest industry.” 

“Indeed, sir, I know that nothing but the press- 
ure of extreme necessity would compel her to do 
what she is now doing. She was once wealthy — ■ 
had a large circle of friends, and a family of which 
any woman might be proud. But her husband and 
two sons were killed in battle, and this surviving 
boy was crippled at Malvern Hill. Her fortune is 
gone, and the section in which she lives is impover- 
ished. The particulars are given in this note that I 
hold in my hand, and my friend who writes to me 
declares that the case is one that would excite pity 
in any breast. Mr. Williams, you can do some- 
thing ” 

“How, now!” exclaimed the gentleman addressed. 
“ Of course I can, and have a thousand hungry ap- 
plicants after me in a week, which, added to those 
who have a claim upon me, good, faithful Union sol- 
diers, would break me down, my friend, and force 
me also to resign.” 

“There is force in what you say, I admit, but 
surely there might be some reason found for making 
this case an exception. To tell you the truth, I did 
not like the expression on that lady’s face — ‘it was 
the perfect picture of despair.’ And if — well, you 
know what happened last week? A poor creature 
had made a strong appeal of this kind to me, and I 


One Glass of Sweet Milk. 


157 


told her precisely what I have told this one to-day, 
and the poor woman, left this house and jumped into 
the Potomac ! ” 

“ But was rescued at the last moment/ 5 said the 
Congressman. 

“Yes, and might have been unworthy of any 
kindness, too, after all; it is so hard to determine 
these questions.” 

“But, about this woman. You say that you 
know her ? ” 

“I said that I knew her by reputation, and had 
seen her once before, and only once. I have been 
trying to recall the circumstances connected with 
the incident, and I can do so very imperfectly; but 
the principal fact I remember very distinctly. Sit 
down and I will give you at least the outlines. 

“ It was in the month of August, 1863. The 
weather was very dry, and very hot. I happened 
to be at a certain station on a railroad in the South, 
when a special train filled with Federal prisoners 
came to the depot. They were on their way to the 
famous prison whose name I need not mention ” 

“Hot to me,” said the Congressman. 

“ Well, the arrival of several car-loads of captured 
soldiers attracted quite a crowd of women, children, 
and old men to the depot. Being a non-combatant 
myself, I only happened to be there, waiting for the 
mail-train. I noticed in one of the cars, an 4 open 


158 


Lights and Shadows . 


car/ sitting on the end near the coupling, with his 
hare feet dangling over the rail, a boy apparently 
not more than sixteen, certainly not more than 
seventeen years of age. He was the youngest 
prisoner in the lot. Perhaps that attracted my 
attention. His clothing was tattered, and he had 
upon his head an old straw hat, from beneath 
whose rugged brim the rich auburn locks fell in 
natural curls that a city belle might envy. His 
complexion was sunburned, but naturally very fair. 
Above all, however, the feature that absorbed my 
attention were the large blue eyes, so full of tender- 
ness, of sorrow, and of wonder mingled together— 
for I saw all these in his eyes — that my pity was 
aroused at once. Whilst I was thinking of this 
poor lad, and the misfortunes that had made him a 
captive, with an unknown future before him, I saw 
a lady approaching the car. 

“ She held something in her hand, which I did 
not see at the moment, but my curiosity was some- 
what excited, and I drew near. She went to the 
car on which the boy was seated, and looked at him 
for several moments, then taking a cover from some- 
thing she held in her hand, she placed a glass of 
milk in the boy’s hand, and told him to drink it. 
He looked at her wistfully, suspiciously, as if he 
suspected a trick of some kind. 

“‘Drink it, my son/ said she, c it is pure sweet 


One Glass of Sweet Milk . 


159 


milk — you look thirsty and tired, poor boy. This 
milk I was taking to my child, sick with typhoid 
fever, but you shall have it. I also have a boy, 
about your age, in the Confederate Army — and God 
knows where he is this day! ’ 

“The lad’s eyes filled with tears as he raised the 
glass to his lips. By this time the usual 4 chaffing * 
which was practiced on such occasions between pris- 
oners and spectators had been partially silenced, for 
the act of kindness had been observed by many. 
The boy drank the milk, and then drew his ragged 
hat from his head, and made the most graceful bow, 
■whilst his lips moved gently, but I did not hear what 
he said. The woman took the glass from his hands, 
and I lost sight of her, for the train started upon its 
journey. Need I say to you, Mr. Williams, that the 
woman who gave the glass of milk to the boy-pris- 
oner was the same person you saw in this room a 
few minutes ago? ” 

“ I suspected as much,” he replied. “ By the way, 
what regiment was that? I mean the one to which 
this boy belonged ? ” 

“ Indeed, I cannot tell you — my impression is, but it 
may be a wrong one, that it was a Missouri regiment.” 

“A Missouri regiment,” said Mr. Williams thought- 
fully. He picked up a book, turned over a few leaves, 
and said, “ Have you met Ellington, the new Mem- 
ber from Illinois?” 


160 


Lights and Shadows. 


“I have not,” was the Chaplain’s answer. 

“Well, I declare it is nearly ten o’clock,” said 
Mr. Williams, looking at his watch, “and I have 
to meet a committee. Good-morning, Mr. Chap- 
lain.” 

There was little to encourage a hope in that 
quarter. But the duties of this life leave no time 
for brooding over failures. The minister made 
the usual preparation for his morning service, and 
for a time the sad face of his visitor was out of 
mind. 

. That afternoon the Member and the Chaplain met 
in the lobby. “ Can you give me that lady’s ad- 
dress?” asked Mr. Williams. 

“ This is her card,” replied the Chaplain. 

“ Thanks; I will take care of it.” 

“And I hope you will do something for her.” 

“There is no harm in trying,” was the answer; 
and they separated. 

Four or five days afterward Mr. Williams called 
at the Chaplain’s office. “I congratulate you, Mr. 
Chaplain,” he said; “you have an excellent memory, 
and your little anecdote has resulted in getting a 
place of twelve hundred dollars a year for the wid- 
ow’s son.” 

“Indeed! I am rejoiced to hear it. How grate- 
ful she must be to you ! ” 

“ To me! No, indeed; it was not by my influence, 


One Glass of Sweet Milk. 


161 


I assure you. It was all done by my friend Elling- 
ton, the new Member from Illinois. You were right 
about the regiment. He ran away from home, and 
joined a Missouri company. It was Ellington that 

drank that glass of sweet milk. 

11 



/ 



HOPE DEFERRED, 


“ T SHALL get it this time, you may be sure of 

X that.” 

“I hope so, Mr. Stuart; I hope you may.” 

“ But you do n’t believe I will ; I see it in your face.” 

“I must confess that I have my doubts. These 
political maneuvers are very unreliable.” 

“ Yes, I know; but I have the ‘influence 5 this 
time. I shall get the place next week. You may 
rely on it.” 

And so he relied on it; there could be no doubt 
of that. Mr. Stuart lived a thousand miles from 
the National Capital, and the petty appointment 
which he sought would scarcely enable him to send 
twenty-five or thirty dollars a month home to his 
family. He was very poor, and the closest possible 
economy was necessary to keep him supplied with 
decent clothing. His letters home were cheerful 
and hopeful, of course. There two sons and a 
daughter were striving to earn a few dollars ex- 
tra, above the absolute necessaries of life, in order 
to pay their father’s board whilst he button-holed 
the Congressman and cooled his heels in the ante- 
rooms of half a dozen departments, waiting for the 
(162) 


Hope Deferred . 


163 


mighty chieftains who could make and unmake 
clerks and messengers by a word. 

Every week, and frequently two or three times 
in the week, I met Mr. Stuart in the lobby, with 
the same smile of anticipated triumph, and the 
same confident assurances that the matter would 
be arranged in a day or two. But the “long ses- 
sion ” came to an end, and John Stuart was still 
without a place. I had only a glimpse of him on 
the day of adjournment. He was talking to a 
“ Member,” and the politician seemed to be giv- 
ing him encouragement to “ try again.” 

Surely, thought I, the man must see the folly of 
his course. For eight months he has been here, in- 
terviewing this one, and teasing that one, getting 
certificates of character and recommendations that 
are not worth the paper they are written on, and 
are never read by anyone except himself. 

But he did not see the folly of it. The advent of 
the “ short session ” found our friend Stuart in town 
again, looking as seedy as to his dress, but as cheer- 
ful in spirit as if he had his commission in his pock- 
et, and had come only to draw his pay. 

“ Sure work this time,” he said at our first meet- 
ing. “You know the Administration think the 
world and all of Judge Smith, and he has signed 
my papers. He declares that I am the only man 
he has recommended, but for reasons that he and I 


164 


Lights and Shadows . 


know very well, he consents to recommend me for 
a place in the Pension Office.” 

“ Does Judge Smith say that he has never signed 
anybody’s papers besides your own ? ” 

“That he does; and that fact makes my case all 
the stronger, you know. They don’t like to be 
bothered by recommendations from the same man 
coming continually for places, and he has refused 
everybody but me.” 

“And do you believe that? ” 

“ I ? Of course I do ; do n’t you ? ” 

“ Not a word of it. I have seen that man’s name 
signed to twenty 4 papers,’ and I have no doubt he 
has ‘ recommended ’ a hundred.” 

“You must be wrong, my friend.” 

“ How can I be? Have I not seen his name this 
very morning on three different certificates and two 
applications to the Pension Office?” 

“Surely not; surely not.” 

“But I tell you that it is so; and I tell you, my 
friend, this is a serious business. You have no 
money to spend here, I will not say in idleness, but 
in this industrious folly of yours; striving after that 
which I feel absolutely certain you will not get.” 

^ You are a ‘Job’s comforter.’ ” 

“Yes; and very likely you will go away offended 
with me because I have told you the plain truth.” 
And he was offended. I could see it plainly 


Hope Deferred . 


165 


written in his face as he bid me good -morning 
and turned away. 

The “short session” came to an end on the fourth 
of March, and John Stuart was still without a place. 
I saw him in the crowd on the last day of the ses- 
sion, and the sadness of his face induced me to be- 
lieve that if a sadder he had indeed become a wiser 
man, and that he would make his appearance no 
more in the role of an office-seeker at least. But I 
was wrong this time. 

A new Congress began in December. Many 
changes were made in the roll of the House. 
Judge Smith was left at home, and John Stuart 
appeared in high spirits, arm in arm with the newly 
elected Member from Smith’s old district. 

“ Now I shall get the place in the Pension Office,” 
said Stuart, the first time he met me. “ You see 
that ungrateful old hound, Smith, played me false, 
and I went against him in the convention, and we 
nominated a new man.” 

“And do you think you will succeed any better 
with the new than you did with the old Member?” 

“ Of course I will. Colonel Jones will make it 
his business to see me through right away. There 
are a dozen vacancies right now, and I am here just 
in the nick of time.” 

“ But do you not know that this new Member 
will be as dumb as an oyster this whole session, and 


166 


Lights a&d Shadows. 


as to making appointments, he has nbt a particle of 
4 influence’ in the matter? ” 

“0 I know that he could not get the place him- 
self, but you see he knows Perkins, the head of the 
Department, and it will be plain sailing for me— 
now see if it won’t.” 

Argument was useless. Only experience could 
uproot such sublime confidence as that* And the 
experience came, far too soon for my poor friend 
Stuart. The session closed, and he was not only 
without a place, but he had not money enough to 
get back home. He can\e to me, and told his story. 
I had expected this result, and was prepared for it* 
The thing had happened before, and I resolved to 
dictate terms before I surrendered a dollar. Stuart 
was very penitent. I should not lose the money, 
and he would make it a point not to keep me out 
of the small sum he needed more than a week after 
he arrived at home. I made him promise to give 
up the chase after the office and go to work. 
Whether the money was ever returned or not, 
that one thing he must do. He promised, and I 
loaned him the money. 

I knew him in his Western home, and did not be- 
lieve that he would break his promise. Alas! the 
temptation was too strong for him. He was present 
at the opening of the next session. This was the 
fourth year of his probation as an office-seeker. 


Hope Deferred . 


167 


lie shunned me, for he had not only broken his 
promise by returning, but he had never refunded 
the money I had loaned him. A month passed be- 
fore he spoke to me. He had managed to gather 
the amount he had borrowed from me. It was in 
one-dollar bills, and small change, halves and quar- 
ters. How it was obtained I know not, but it looked 
like the results of a “ collection. ” He was now, if 
possible, more confident than ever of his success. 
His “ Member >? had the promise of an interview, a 
post-prandial talk with the chief of the Department, 
and there was not a shadow of doubt. 

For once I agreed with him. There was not a 
“ shadow,” because there was not doubt enough to 
make a shadow. There was nothing in the case 
but absolute certainty of defeat. And so it proved, 
for this session was in its last week when I received 
a message from the lady who kept the boarding- 
house in which Stuart lodged. He was very ill, 
and wished to see me immediately. I went with 
the messenger to his room, and found him delirious. 

In two hours he was dead ! 

The “ Member” and a few friends provided the 
means for the transportation of his remains to his 
Western home, where there was a “place” waiting 
for him in the village grave-yard. 


THE SPECTRAL BRIDE 

Of Bean’s Station. 


U /^^AN you recommend a place in tlie country 
where a quiet citizen like myself can spend 
the hot days of August in comparative comfort?” 

“Half a dozen of them,” replied Dr. Post; “but 
one that I am sure you would be delighted with. 
You see there are many people in the Old Domin- 
ion who are in reduced circumstances — people who 
know what real society is, and would, in other times, 
entertain you for the sake of your company, but 
now make merely nominal charges, because they 
cannot afford to be hospitable.” 

“ Those are the people I wish to meet. I should 
feel embarrassed if I knew that my presence was 
a tax upon an inadequate income. I dislike to be 
6 dead-headed ’ anywhere in these times.” 

“ So I thought. Well, there is an elegant family 
at Bean’s Station, on the Ohio River Railroad. They 
have a large farm-house that has been encroached 
upon recently by the ‘march of improvement’ in 
the shape of a railroad, and the property in course 
of time will be valuable. At present the ante hel- 
ium, generation holds to the old prejudices, and will 
( 168 ) 


The Spectral Bride . 


169 


not partition* the farm into lots, bat strive to keep 
up the old life on the slender resources of the farm. 
Failing in this, the matron of the establishment 
takes in a few summer-boarders — of the best charac- 
ter, you know, for mere money cannot buy accommo- 
dation there. I can arrange it for you in ten days.” 

“Very good; I will rely upon you. I wish to 
leave about the last of July or the first of August.” 

Doctor Post was a very valuable man. He be- 
longs to a very small class of accommodating men, 
who are always ready, with large experience, larger 
knowledge, and kind-heartedness, serving their 
friends without the expectation of fee or reward. 

Within a week he had written to the parties, en- 
gaged a room, and named a day for my appearance 
at Bean’s Station. A slow train, on a road that be- 
gan nowhere, and ended in the woods — so I am told, 
for I never was at the end of it; rough rails, hard 
seats, and long stops at little uncouth villages, and 
quaintly named stations — these were the introduc- 
tions to the family at Bean’s Station. 

The house was one of the old order of architec- 
ture. High ceilings, large rooms, long porticos 
front, side, and rear, with giant oaks spreading 
their rich foliage in fatherly protection, giving a 
delightful shade to the beautiful lawn where ample 
space permitted grounds for croquet and tennis; 
these features were full of promise. In an hour’s 


170 


Lights and Shadows . 


time I had made the acquaintance of every member 
of the family. A venerable man, full of politics of 
the old Jeffersonian type* taking the papers, and 
abounding in reminiscences of the golden age, af- 
forded opportunity for delightful conversation when- 
ever I felt in the mood congenial to his tastes. His 
wife was twenty years his junior, graceful and tall, 
keeping still, on the shady side of ffftv, some of 
the remains of youthful beauty, and evidently proud 
of her two pretty daughters, the youngest of whom 
had barely reached her twentieth year. This I am 
forced to say is a “guess,” for I am not skilled in 
the matter of women’s ages, and never dare to make 
inquiry on the subject. 

There were two other visitors on the ground when 
I arrived. One of them was on such familiar foot- 
ing in the household that I was at a loss to deter- 
mine whether he could be, strictly speaking, a 
boarder. If he was, he certainly flattered his host 
and the family by his exceedingly polite and agree- 
able manners, in which one could not detect the 
slightest particle of the American trait of exhibit- 
ing to everybody the fact that he was paying for the 
attention he received. In this particular he differed 
greatly from the other visitor. He bought his privi- 
leges, and money converted them into rights. This 
fact I saw at a glance. It was obvious, also, in the 
air of constraint, not to say wounded pride, with 


The Spectral Bride , 


171 


which his imperious tone and exacting disposition 
were received by the whole family. Evidently this 
boarder was out of his place, and had been smug- 
gled into this Eden among the mountains. Such 
was my conclusion on the first day, and it was veri- 
fied before the end of the week, by the departure 
of the fellow, who became enraged because he was 
not allowed to hector the servants, and order the 
whole establishment to do his will and pleasuredbr 
the sum of seven dollars a week. 

The train that arrived on the same day that the 
disagreeable man departed added six new-comers to 
our house, and the rooms were all taken. Three of 
the new arrivals were acquaintances of mine, and I 
could not have made a better selection from the 
whole circle of society, considering the objects I 
had in view, if I had been allowed to choose my 
companions for the summer holidays. 

One of the new-comers, however, was a very ret- 
icent man. He seldom joined in the conversation 
upon any subject, but was always an attentive list- 
ener. Where he came from, and what his business 
was, remained a mystery, notwithstanding the un- 
tiring diligence of a neat little gentleman whose 
whole enjoyment of the place was spoiled, I verily 
believe, by his failure to find out John Smith’s oc- 
cupation. There was scarcely a profession, vocation, 
or trade that was not named by the questioner in 


172 


Lights and Shadows. 


liis efforts to find out John Smith’s secret. But that 
individual seemed to be as resolutely fixed in his 
determination not to gratify his questioner. In all 
other respects, however, Smith was an entirely sat- 
isfactory person. He listened well, as I have al- 
ready said, and this is one of the rarest gifts known 
among the children of men. When he did talk, he 
talked well. He was a keen observer, and had trav- 
eled much. A single sentence revealed a broader 
and deeper knowledge of things than most of us 
possessed. In dates, facts of history, places in 
America and in Europe, he was evidently posted; 
and, if he had chosen to do so, his conversation 
would have furnished more information, doubtless, 
than that which generally occupied our time. 

There were only two things that I noticed as 
peculiar in the case of John Smith. He had an 
extra amount of baggage. As he did not dress ex- 
travagantly, was not a peddler, had no samples of 
goods for sale, and did not intend to open a store, 
our little Yankee questioner was sorely puzzled to 
know what Smith wanted with three trunks, and 
one of these as large as a genuine Saratoga. Next 
to the fact of his immense amount of baggage, 
which he had carefully stowed away in his bed- 
room in the second story, was the habit in which 
Smith persisted of retiring early and rising late. 
He was the first one off to bed at night, and the 


The Spectral Bride . 


173 


last one to make his appearance at breakfast in the 
morning. 

I think our Yankee friend would have left us in 
disgust as our imperious friend had done, though 
for a different reason, if it had not been for a 
strange affair that very soon sent John Smith and 
his trunks into oblivion. This affair was neither 
more nor less than the appearance in our midst of a 
real midsummer ghost. 

I do not think that I am in the least degree super- 
stitions. In this opinion I know that I am in agree- 
ment with the majority of men, for I do not remem- 
ber having heard a dozen persons confess to this 
failing, except in very general terms, such as, “We 
all have a slight vein of superstition in our nature.” 
It may be that I do not know myself, and I will not 
affirm confidently that I do, but I have never met a 
trial of my nerves in this direction in which I have 
found my courage at fault. The nearest approxi- 
mation to a failure I am about to record. 

The night was very dark. In addition to the ab- 
sence of the moon,, the heavens were thickly covered 
with clouds. The air was very sultry, and our little 
company had left the porch, and were enjoying 
themselves under the trees in the lawn. One by 
one, as the hours approached the middle of the 
night, the visitors retired, and finally left me and 
my New England friend alone. He was talking 


174 


Lights and Shadows. 


rapidly, and in a sufficiently entertaining manner, 
leaving me the opportunity for answering a ques- 
tion now and then, whioh was all that \ cared to do, 
for the warm atmosphere was favorable to mental 
as well as physical indolence. 

An exclamation from Quince, the New Englander, 
aroused me from a reverie into which I had fallen, 

“ There ! Did you see it? ” 

“ See what? ” I asked. 

“Yes, what! That’s what I want to know. 
Come here! ” 

I went to the spot qn which he was standing, and 
looking up to the place he pointed out, I saw a form 
of remarkable beauty — a woman dressed in brilliant 
white, with a bridal-veil hanging from her head, 
and covering half of her face, whilst the snowy 
folds of the lace fell in graceful curves nearly to 
her feet. She was standing in a pensive attitude, 
and the thin covering of the veil did not obscure 
her features, which were surpassingly beautiful. 
The figure was not more than fifty feet from the place 
where I stood, and I confess that I felt a creeping 
of my flesh as I saw her begin to move, very gently 
and slowly, but perceptibly, with the gliding motion 
so frequently described as peculiar to visitors from 
the other world. 

She was now standing at an elevation of twenty 
feet, probably, from the ground, and had approached 


The Spectral Bride , 


175 


us to within forty feet, when she moved suddenly to 
the right and vanished. 

The darkness was profound, and I heard my 
friend’s teeth clattering as if he had an ague, 
whilst he attempted in vain to speak. I touched 
him on the arm, and found that he was trembling 
violently. 

“Do not be alarmed, Mr. Quince, ” said I; “the 
thing cannot hurt us.” 

“ Hu-r-t u-s ! ” he stammered, “gu-e-s-s not; but 
w-h-a-t is it? ” 

“ That I cannot say at present. It is certainly a 
very strange affair. Let us go to sleep, and we will 
discuss the matter to-morrow.” 

This was a very fair proposition, truly, to a man 
whose nervous temperament was aroused to its ut- 
most capacity; but, as I walked to the house, it was 
evident that Mr. Quince did not intend to be left in 
the lawn by himself. We retired, and I noticed 
before lying down that a light was burning in my 
neighbor’s room, and I have no doubt that the lamp 
was not put out until the sun was up next day. 

At breakfast we were discussing the affair of the 
ghost when Mr. Smith came down. He seemed to 
be as much surprised by the occurrence as any 
member of the household, but he was a man of 
strong self-control, and only asked a few questions 
in a very matter-of-fact way. The family, however, 


176 


Lights and Shadows . 


were greatly disturbed. It was not at all agreeable 
to them — the prospect of having their house talked 
about, and visited by curiosity-hunters; and the old 
gentleman especially exhibited a great deal of feel- 
ing. 

“ Gentlemen, 1 ” he said with a tone of marked 
gravity, and an appealing look that was really very 
touching; I rely upon you not to give publicity 
to this matter. I will not question the assertion of 
these gentlemen who are so positive about the ap- 
parition last night. But you are men of honor, and 
can have no desire to give us trouble and annoy- 
ance. If you relate this affair in the village, we 
shall have two or three hundred people here to- 
night, strolling about the grounds, and perplexing 
us with useless inquiries. I am not a believer in 
any of these mysterious affairs; and whilst I do not 
doubt that these gentlemen saw what they have de- 
scribed, I am satisfied that there is some method of 
explaining it.” 

“And so am I, Colonel,” I replied; “and you may 
be sure that I will not open my lips about it.” 

“ Particularly, beware of the servants,” said the 
old man, as one of the waiters approached the door 
with a dish of hot muffins from the kitchen. 

It was not so certain that Mr. Quince would keep 
his promise. He made it readily enough, but there 
was a vacant air about his face that would plainly 


The Spectral Bride . 


177 


suggest an inquiry from the first person he met, and 
any question might lead him to tell all that he knew. 
It was necessary then to keep the little man as cheer- 
fully employed as possible, which the rest of the 
company engaged to do, and the result was that he 
was pretty well worn out with croquet and tennis 
before night -fall. We all agreed to watch for 
the midnight visitor, and the whole household, 
Mr. Smith excepted, spent the evening upon the 
lawn, and we did not adjourn until “the wee sma’ 
hours.” 

There was no appearance that night, nor the next. 
In fact, a week passed by, and Mr. Quince and I be- 
gan to lose credit among the boarders. The fact was 
beyond question. Stories that we told in “whiling 
away the time” were manifestly subject to a heavy 
discount. Nobody said so, but it was clear that we 
were resting under grave suspicion. Watch had 
been kept faithfully every night, and no sign of a 
ghost was seen by anyone. For my own part, I 
did not care very much, although there are few 
things that a grave man like myself will resent 
quicker than the charge of credulity or superstition. 
But Mr. Quince began to grow testy and restless. 
He looked as if the ghost had broken faith with 
him, especially by refusing to put in another ap- 
pearance. He wanted “these people” to see the 

thing for themselves for one time, only once; he did 
12 


178 


Lights and Shadows. 


not care to be present even, but he would have seen 
the reputation of the farm-house sent sky-high 
rather than be suspected of an attempt at imposi- 
tion in such a matter. I did my best to keep him 
quiet, but he was fast becoming a sour, disagreeable 
companion, and really began to regard me as a 
party to some attempt to make sport of him. 

Two weeks passed, and we had quieted down en- 
tirely. The subject had worn itself out, when one 
morning the Colonel was absent from the breakfast- 
table, confined to his room. The landlady was very 
anxious and care-worn, evidently, and when the 
company separated for the usual morning stroll, she 
requested me to go to the Coloners room and see 
him. I did so immediately, and found the old gen- 
tleman partially dressed, but lying on his bed. He 
was very pale, and his face was the picture of alarm. 
Only a few moments were required to give me the 
explanation. The Colonel had seen the ghost! 

Whether he had purposely watched for it he did 
not state, but it seems that he had posted himself at 
the spot that Quince and I had pointed out, after 
everybody else was in bed, and, leaning his chair 
against one of the oaks, fell asleep. About one 
o’clock he waked up, and there, in full view before 
him, as plain as human eyes could see it, stood the 
figure of the Spectral Bride. The very movements 
that we had related the Colonel described, and, ac- 


The Spectral Bride . 


179 


cording to his calculation of the time, he sat and 
watched the specter for at least a quarter of an 
hour. How he reached his bed-room he could not 
tell me, but he was in such a state of nervous ex- 
citement that his wife was very much alarmed, and 
neither of them closed their eyes during the night. 

Manifestly, matters had come to a crisis. There 
was no possibility of any farther concealment. The 
old gentleman was not a person to tell or to act an 
untruth. Come what might, the affair must be 
probed to the bottom, if it aroused the whole neigh- 
borhood. 

A council was held upon the spot, and, as it hap- 
pened, we agreed to call in the aid of Mr. John 
Smith, who seemed to be a man of a cool head and 
excellent sense, and the only one of the party who 
had not manifested a great deal of excitement at 
the first appearance of the unwelcome visitor. It 
was made my duty to confer with him, and, if pos- 
sible, obtain his consent to undertake a solution of 
the mystery. There was a solution, beyond a doubt. 
The thing could be explained in some way — so I 
assured the Colonel, although I frankly acknowl- 
edge that I had not the slightest conception about 
the way. With this assurance the old gentleman 
seemed to be pacified, and after some time he rose, 
completed his toilet, and appeared as serene and 
composed as he could. 


180 


Lights and Shadows . 


It was late in the afternoon before I could see 
Smith, for he had joined a little fishing-party that 
day, and did not return until near the hour for sup- 
per. After the evening meal was over, I invited 
Mr. Smith to take a walk, and related the whole 
affair of the night before, and solicited his aid in 
ferreting out the secret, for there was one, I felt 
certain. At first he seemed greatly perplexed. It 
was not alarm, but I thought I could perceive in his 
manner something very unusual for him . He seemed 
reluctant to have any thing to do with the matter. 
He hooted at the idea of its being a real ghost, and 
he was perfectly positive that whatever it was it 
would trouble us no more. 

I became a little angry at this conduct of his, and 
finally told him that we would hold him accountable 
for disturbing the peace of the family if he did not 
forthwith volunteer his assistance. This threat of 
mine brought him to terms at once. He declared 
his willingness to sit up and watch, or do any thing 
we desired, to put a quietus upon the excitement. 
By this time, however, it came into my head that 
Smith knew more about the matter than he chose 
to tell, and when I began to review his actions from 
the beginning, my suspicion became suddenly re- 
solved into belief, and I told him so. 

“ Well/' said he, after a long pause, during which 
he had been nervously whittling a fence-rail; “ I 


The Spectral Bride . 


181 


really did not intend that matters should come to 
this pass, but as it has happened, I might as well 
make a clean breast of it! ” 

“I think you had, indeed, Mr. Smith,” I answered; 
“ for certainly it is not a very creditable thing in you 
to alarm these old people, and damage their house 
after this fashion. You know very well that if 
this house gets the reputation of being ‘haunted,’ 
these old people will be left without a servant in 
twelve hours, and the disagreeable notoriety, to say 
nothing of the loss of their custom, will be a serious 
blow to a worthy family.” 

“0 my friend !” he exclaimed, “I did not dream 
of any thing like this; I will make oath of it.” 

“No, Smith, do not swear; your word, or any 
man’s word, for that matter, is just as good as his 
oath — in my estimation, at least. And now, as you 
confess to having a hand in this delusion, you must 
clear it up this very night.” 

There was no escape for Smith, and he saw it. 
Before we had finished our walk he agreed to solve 
the mystery, and also to explain his own conduct, 
before the company separated for the night. The 
entire household was assembled on the lawn when 
we returned. I acted as spokesman for Smith, and 
called the attention of the party. 

“Ladies land gentlemen! You are all aware that 
in this spot, some two weeks ago or more, Mr. 


182 


Lights and Shadows. 


Quince and I affirmed that we saw what appeared 
to be a spectral bride gliding through the air. That 
first appearance of the strange visitor was dis- 
credited, or at least doubted, by some of you. I am 
happy to be able to say that since that time the 
ghost has appeared to other parties, and Mr. Smith 
will solve the mystery for you. 5 ’ 

“And first of all, ladies and gentlemen,” said 
Smith, “I think it is best that this whole party 
should see the vision that appeared to these two 
gentlemen. I believe it is now a quarter past eight; 
about nine o’clock we shall be ready for the appear- 
ance of the Spectral Bride. Meantime, you will ex- 
cuse me, whilst I remain in my room, and when I 
am ready I will give you notice.” 

There was no little astonishment manifested upon 
the delivery of these two speeches, and none of us 
having any thing more than Smith’s word for the 
performance, we found it no easy matter to dispose 
of the time. A hundred conjectures were proposed 
as to what Smith was going to do. At last the 
hour arrived, announced by the old-fashioned clock 
that stood in the hall, and a few moments after 
we heard Smith’s voice calling out that he was 
ready. By this time the servants had collected, 
and we formed quite a group on the lawn. The 
new moon had just gone down, and the stars 
glimmered very feebly overhead. We heard the 


The Spectral Bride . 


183 


shutter of Smith’s window open overhead, and in 
one instant the Spectral Bride stood before us. 

An exclamation of surprise arose, mingled with 
a few emphatic shrieks from the sable members of 
the party. In a few moments Mr. Smith appeared 
at the door. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, “you perceive 
that the ghost is perfectly still. When I return she 
will advance toward you, bow her head gently, and 
then, receding to the right, she will gradually dis- 
appear. I mention this to show you that the figure 
is perfectly under my control.” 

He departed, and in a few minutes afterward the 
figure did advance, bow, and disappear. The per- 
formance was perfectly satisfactory. Mr. Quince 
was delighted, and wished to see it again, but I was 
not altogether pleased with the conduct of Smith, 
and waited with some impatience until he appeared 
and made his explanation, lie came very soon, and 
the little company was seated and ready to hear his 
defense. 

“ I am making some experiments preparatory to 
a tour through the States,” he began, “ in company 
with a gentleman who is lecturing upon the subject 
of the so-called ‘spiritual phenomena.’ We have a 
number of machines, among them the ‘Wonder 
Camera,’ and the exhibition I have just given you is 
the result of an improvement of my own upon what 


184 


Lights and Shadows . 


is called ‘ Pepper’s Ghost.’ You perceive that the 
figure advances and retreats at the will of the per- 
former, which little trick is my own invention, and 
you will not insist upon my explaining it. The 
Colonel will remember that I spent a few days here 
last summer. I noticed then that the foliage of the 
oaks on that side of the house formed a natural 
cove, or bay-window reversed, I may say. and upon 
the dark background of the trees I thought I should 
find an excellent surface with which to practice my 
invention. In order to arrange the focus, to deter- 
mine the distances, and make other arrangements 
necessary for our exhibition, I resolved to take ad- 
vantage of a few weeks of leisure — our ‘lecture 
season ’ being over for the present — and without the 
remotest idea of attracting observation, I was en- 
gaged in perfecting my machine when these gentle- 
men made their unlucky discovery. I assure you I 
had no thought of disturbing anyone, for I sup- 
posed that everybody was in bed; and if you will 
examine the place to-morrow, you will see that the 
spot you now occupy is the only one from which the 
figure could have been seen. After the first alarm, 
I did not try any more experiments until four nights 
ago, when I w T as positive that every person in the 
house was in bed, and probably asleep. Between 
twelve and two I worked at my machine, and fol- 
lowed it up every night. Unfortunately I was wrong 


The Spec teal Be ide. 


185 


in my calculations last night, for the Colonel caught 
a view of my 4 Spectral Bride; ’ and thus the discovery 
of the whole affair became an absolute necessity.” 

Smith was readily pardoned by us all, and enter- 
tained us with the description of a great number of 
optical illusions, for some of which he had the neces- 
sary apparatus in those immense trunks that had 
excited Mr. Quince’s curiosity on the day of his ar- 
rival. We not only pardoned Smith, but gave him 
a vote of thanks for his zealous labors in the field 
of natural magic; and I have been gratified since by 
observing in the newspapers that he has made a 
grand success of his invention, and proved before 
multitudes the fallacy of believing every thing “one 
sees with his own eyes.” 




„Z=st<2^. 


kjave You ftjade it Up witlj Frank? 


RING of the door-bell startled me from sleep. 



It was about four o’clock in the morning, in 
midwinter, and the snow lay three inches deep on 
the ground. It was a severe trial to leave a warm 
bed and go out in the frosty air before day, but there 
Was no help for it. A sick person at the door of 
death had sent for me. The messenger was the 
husband of the lady who was dying. 

“ Parson !” he exclaimed, with a strong Western 
accent, “I’ll kill that man if I meet him to-day, 
and I’m going to hunt for him.” 

“ Whom do you mean ? ” 

“ Why that villain of a doctor that has murdered 
my wife.” 

“ No, no, my friend; do not say that.” 

“ But I tell you that I will. The miserable hound, 
the incarnate villain, by inhuman neglect, has brought 
my beautiful young wife to the grave.” 

“01 hope not, Mr. White,” I replied as we walked 
through the snow to his residence. 

“ She must die, sir — it can’t be helped now. If 
that scoundrel had the soul of a dog he would get 
down on his hands and knees and beg my pardon — 


(186 


Have You Made it Up with Frank? 187 


and I don't know if I could spare him then. But 
he ’s never been near since I sent for another phy- 
sician — and he won’t come* It will go hard with 
him, I tell you, if I meet him;” and he drew partly 
from his pocket a pistol, which he was carrying for 
the faithless doctor. 

And truly it was a hard case! Ten minutes’ time, 
and a little common sense, ten days ago, would have 
saved this young life. 

When I reached her room she turned to greet me, 
and I saw a pale, beautiful face, and her voice was 
soft and musical. She was scarcely twenty-one 
years of age, and a stranger in the city. 

“Mr. Heartwell,” she said, “I have sent for you, 
because I am going to die, and I wish to hear you 
talk about heaven. I have a mother there, and my 
father is a prominent member of your Church in a 
Western city. I have never joined the Church my- 
self, but I know all about its doctrines. One day 
my husband and I happened in at your church, and 
heard your sermon in the morning. It is the only 
sermon I have heard since we have been here. You 
see I have not been able to leave the house for three 
months past, or we would have come again. Yow 
sit down here close to me, and let me tell you how I 
feel.” 

I drew near to her bedside and took the cold, thin, 
white hand which she gave me, whilst on the other 


188 


Lights and Shadows . 


side her husband sat, holding her left hand in his. 
He was trembling like one with an ague, and now 
and then I caught his eye, and heard his teeth grat- 
ing fearfully, as his mind wandered toward the 
guilty physician. 

“ Now, husband,” said the wife, “you must not 
feel that way toward the doctor. He did very 
wrong, of course ” 

“ 0 Emmy — Emmy! ” he exclaimed, “I must kill 
him.” 

“ My dear husband, you grieve me by talking that 
way,” she answered; and then drawing his head 
toward her, until his cheek rested on her heart, 
“There,” said she, “next to my heart, that is your 
place, my husband; and when I am no longer able 
to speak, remember, that next to the Lord that has 
redeemed me, I love and reverence you.” 

He could bear this no longer, but springing from 
the bed, he rushed out of the room with a wail of 
sorrow such as I have seldom heard. 

“ Eollow him,” said she; “ do n’t let him go.” 

The house and its arrangements were all unknown 
to me, but in the passage I met an elderly gentle- 
man, who proved to be the proprietor of the board- 
ing-house. He touched me on the arm and whis- 
pered to me. There were two men in the next apart- 
ment, and they had engaged themselves to guard 
Mr. White, and prevent him from carrying out his 


Have You Made it Up with Frank? 189 


purpose of revenge. I told the old gentleman that 
he was already armed, and it might be as well to let 
the offending physician know something of his 
danger. I was persuaded, from the information I 
then had, that if Mr. White had slain the doctor 
on the street, no ordinary jury would have found it 
a case of murder. 

A few moments afterward there was a struggle in 
a back room, and I heard the voices of three men; 
one was the outraged husband, and the others the 
men striving to overpower him. Following the 
sound, I had only time to speak a word or two to 
the poor fellow, to remind him that he was exciting 
and punishing his wife, and only bringing the in- 
evitable end still nearer. The thought calmed him 
down. He gave up the pistol, and promised me 
that he would neither leave the house nor alarm 
his wife again. 

When I returned to the bedside, her hands were 
clasped in prayer, and her lips were moving, but in- 
audibly. 

“0 Mr. Heartwell!” she exclaimed, “you must 
not think too harshly of my husband. He has been 
nearly deranged since Sunday last, when it became 
certain that I must die. The doctor acted shame- 
fully with me. It is true, too true; but nothing can 
save my life now. I forgive him, and all that ever 
did me a wrong. I have prayed to my Saviour, and 


190 


Lights and Shadows . 


he has given me a clean heart, and a right spirit; 
and, though I would like to stay here for Harry’s 
sake, I am not at all afraid to die. You see the 
Lord told his disciples, 4 In my Father’s house are 
many mansions.’ My earthly father has a fine 
mansion, and lives in great prosperity, and was 
never unkind to me; but his wife, my step-mother, 
you know, did not love us children as she ought to. 
I have not been happy since mother died, on that 
account. But I have no complaint to make. Harry 
and I came here to live. He has a place in the 
Treasury, and would have done so well, if I could 
only have been spared to him. But I hope for the 
best.” 

Thus for an hour she talked, now upon subjects 
purely personal and temporal, plans she wished car- 
ried out for her burial, and then her mind seemed 
to wander a little. The end seemed very near, in- 
deed. The broad sunlight of the winter morning 
was streaming in at the windows when I rose to 
leave. She was sleeping then, and the new physi- 
cian followed me to the door to tell me his views of 
the case. He could not break through the “ ethics ” 
of his profession, but every thing he said confirmed 
the statements I had received from others. It was 
a case of malpractice, beyond a doubt, and there 
was no hope for the unfortunate victim. Ten days 
ago the most inexperienced practitioner could have 


Have You Made it Up with Frank? 191 


preserved her life; now all the science in the world 
was helpless. 

Twice that day I called to see the dying woman. 
I noticed a perceptible loss of strength each time, 
but her mind was clear and her conversation almost 
wholly upon heaven and the happiness of the re- 
deemed there. Her friends in C had been tele- 

graphed for, and one of her two brothers was ex- 
pected by the next train. 

At eight o’clock that night he came. I was sit- 
ting by her bed when a large, tine-looking man came 
rapidly to her bedside and kissed her. “Ah, John! ” 
said she, “you have come at last.” 

“I was out of the city, Em, and did not get the 
telegram until six o’clock yesterday afternoon. At 
seven I started, and here I am.” 

“Are they all well? ” 

“All well, Em — and you, are n’t you better? ” 

“No, John; I am dying!” 

“ God forbid!” said John, whilst his large frame 
shook like a reed in the storm. 

“ Yes, John, I am going to die. This is the min- 
ister I told you about in my letter. I want him to 
hear what I have to say. You must tell Mary — no, 
John, she is my father’s wife — tell mother that I am 
sorry she could not learn to love me, and if I ever 
did any thing wrong to her, I am sorry, and ask her 
pardon, and freely forgive her for all that she has 


192 


Lights and Shadows. 


done to me. Tell Tom, who is in California, that I 
want him to be religious, and meet our mother and 
me in heaven. And dear little Josie, tell her all 
about my death — and how I was n’t afraid to think 
of it, nor to talk about it. And, John — look at me, 
brother — have you made it up with Frank ? ” 

He was standing by me, and I looked up into his 
face. The great tears were falling down his cheeks, 
and for a moment he was too much affected to an- 
swer. Presently, he said, “No, Em; not yet. 55 

“ Promise me, my brother, to make it up with 
Frank, here in presence of the minister, just as soon 
as you go home — will you? 55 

“ 0 Em, I will promise you any thing! ” 

“ Yes, but will you do it, John, when I am gone? 55 
“ Yes, yes,” said he; and he fell on his knees and 
buried his face in her bosom. “ Yes; God helping 
me, I will! 55 

“ Then I shall die satisfied ! 55 she exclaimed, rais- 
ing her hand and laying it on her brother’s head. 

The scene was one of the most melting, tendering, 
holy character. The husband, calmed somewhat, 
stood on one side, the brother kneeling on the other. 
She took her husband’s hand, and then my own, 
and joining them together over her brother’s head, 
said softly, “Let us meet in heaven!” 

These were her last words. Gently the spirit 
passed away, and the fair young form lay cold and 


Have You Made it Up with Frank? 193 


white as marble. The one remaining sorrow was 
removed from her heart by John’s promise u to 
make it up with Frank.” Who Frank was, and 
what the difficulty was, I never learned. That after- 
noon she was borne away to the West, to lie in the 
grave-yard till the trumpet shall sound, and wake 
the sleeping dust. 

As I walked home that evening, I thought of the 
blessedness of the gospel of Christ, which proves 
itself to be the only comforter and companion for 
men in the dark valley and amid the shadows of 
death. He who came to bring peace to the earth 
breathes into the dying soul, his own peace, and 
this the departing one desires to see accepted, en- 
joyed, by all that are left behind. How sweetly the 
soul that is nearing the haven of peace breathes its 
blessedness upon all the strife, contentions, and bit- 
terness of life! This fair young spirit could not 
leave the world until she had become a 'peace-maker; 
and this was her last act, arid her introduction into 
heaven as one of the children of God. The angels 
met her at that moment — the hosts of the mighty 
God were encamped on the neighboring heights, 
and as the last act of intercession for the peace of 
her friends and relations closed, the gates of para- 
dise opened, and the heavenly host welcomed her 
home. 

A few months after this incident happened, I re- 


194 


Lights and Shadows, 


ceived a Western paper with a pencil mark drawn 
around this item: 

“ Died , suddenly, at Malden Hill, on Wednesday 
evening, Mr. Harry White. He has never been well 
since the death of his young wife, but his death 
will be a great surprise to his many friends.” 

And this was the end of the tragedy. 

Ten minutes’ neglect! How much of pain, an- 
guish, and sorrow followed from a little negligence 
upon the part of one in whose professional hands 
were the issues of life and death! 



THE SHIP THAT IS COMING 

From Oyer the Sea. 


T T 7 HEN mamma’s ship comes from over the sea, 
V V What do you think it will bring here to me? 
I know what I want — a nice parlor set 
For Dollie, my baby, my sweet little pet; 

With four pretty chairs, a rosewood settee, 

And carpet of velvet, how grand she will be! 

O how I do wish it would come right away; 

What can be the matter that makes the ship stay? 

Dear Annie, my daughter, be patient, and wait; 
Your wants are so many, so costly, so great; 

The country is distant, it takes a long time 

For the ship to come back from the far away clime. 

And so through December, to April and May, 

The last thing at night, and the first thing at day, 
The two little eyes have been looking to see 
The ship that is coming from over the sea ! 

In the midsummer hours, on the face of the sky, 
Many cloud-woven barks sailed lazily by. 

To the home of the watcher some came very near, 
And loitered a moment, but dropped only a tear ; 
Till hope from the heart of the watcher had fled, 

(195) 


196 


Lights and Shadows . 


And the bright little eyes from long weeping were 
red, 

Waiting, and watching, and longing to see 
The ship that is coming from over the sea! 

And there lay the sick one in the shadows and gloom, 
Near the fond mother's heart, in the small darkened 
room ; 

And the sleeper lies dreaming, and sees from afar 
A ship at whose mast-head is a bright-beaming star. 
Down, down it is coming! and the Captain is He 
Who said, “ Suffer the children to come unto me! ” 
Weep, grief-stricken mother! for thus it must be ; 
This is the ship that is come from over the sea. 

O sorrowful mother! how keen is the dart 
That pierces with anguish your grief-laden heart! 
Your promises, broken, bring the thorn of regret 
To plant with the flowers on the grave of your pet. 
So short is the season, and so brief is the stay, 

Of life’s dearest treasures, till they hasten away, 

It is best not to wait for the joys that may be 
Till the great ship is coming from over the sea ! 




Tf^E AGENT OF TIJE UGLY CLUB, 



E entered the car some minutes before the 


JL Jl departure of the train. Standing in the 
aisle, with his arms folded across his breast, he sur- 
veyed the passengers, one by one, beginning at the 
seat nearest him, and continuing his scrutiny until 
his eye reached the door at the upper end of the car. 
He was a man slightly above the medium height, 
with a short stubble of beard, mingled gray and red 
in a curious mixture that gave his singular face an 
indescribable expression. Small, keen eyes, twink- 
ling like stars on the surface of a pool; short, re- 
trousse nose, with almost a straight line of eyebrows 
meeting above it in a fierce thicket of hair; un- 
combed, or at least but slightly dressed, head of 

hair, somewhat in contrast with his beard as to 

/, 

color, and surmounted by a curiosity in the shape 
of a hat, which was a story and a half high, and 
showed a dozen indications of contact with human 
fists, or something harder, from the dents and cracks 
running in all directions; and a mouth that had 
passed through ever so many changes of expression, 
from lively to severe, in two minutes of time. Such 
was the phenomenon that appeared on the regular 


( 197 ) 


198 


Lights and Shadows . 


passenger train running from Beechwood to Quincy, 
on the second day of May, 18 — . 

Twice he had passed the company in review, be- 
fore the odd figure became the center of observa- 
tion, and then the hum of conversation ceased, and 
everybody gazed at the new-comer. He shook his 
head majestically, smiled and chuckled, and then, in 
a clear, strong voice, said, “All right; he’s here!” 

Probably some of our party took him for a detect- 
ive, for many faces were turned in the direction he 
was looking, as if in search of the person that was 
wanted. Others whispered to near neighbors, and 
curious glances directed at the odd fellow indicated 
the opinion that he was crazy. But the stranger 
did not seem to be aware of any impertinent curios- 
ity, as he walked slowly forward, and halted before 
a middle-aged gentleman, whom he saluted with the 
question, “ My Ugly Brother, are you married?” 

“Yes;” said the astonished man, looking up to 
the singular face that was now bent down in the 
attitude of one profoundly interested in the answer. 

“I’m glad of it, my Ugly Brother — and it must 
have been the last pea in the dish, or you never 
would have got her. Take good care of her, my 
Ugly Brother, for if she should die, there’s not an- 
other one left that would have you ” 

“What do you mean, sir?” asked the person ad- 
dressed, in a sharp tone, that was not mollified by 


Tite Agent of the Ugly Club. 


199 


the laugh that was running through the car from 
the amused spectators. 

“Mean, sir; what do I mean? I mean that I 
have got you, sir; I have you, and you can’t escape 
me this time! No* sir; no affectation of humility, 
sir; you must bear your blushing honors, sir, and 
submit to the. inevitable.” 

“ What does the man mean?” asked the perplexed 
citizen, as he turned his face toward the occupants 
of the seats near him* in a vain search for an ex- 
planation. 

“ Mean, sir! What does the man mean, did you 
say? Ho, ho! as if the Colonel should pretend ig- 
norance, and play the innocent young maiden in 
the presence of a chance for an exalted dignity, for 
which kings and princes have sighed in vain. Ha, 
ha! It is too rich! Mean? That you see before 
you, sir, the Honorable Bobbie Short, otherwise 
Robert Shorter, the regular acknowledged, en- 
dowed, and credentiated General Agent, in search 
of a President for the Ugly Club , and I have found 
him. Yes, g-e-n-t-l-e-m-e-n and 1-a-d-i-e-s, I have 
found him! ” 

The roar that followed this speech was loud 
enough to startle the sleepy policeman leaning 
against a pillar of the car- shed, and in a trice there 
was a crowd of curious gazers peering in at the 
windows, and the by-standers flocked in until the 


200 


Lights and Shadows. 


car was in a jam. The beleagured citizen was in a 
hopeless state of amazement, doubtful how to pro- 
ceed in order to get rid of his unwelcome neighbor. 
Meantime the “General Agent” was practicing his 
tongue at a pace that no short-hand reporter could 
follow. 

“Yes, sir; you are the man ! You see our Presi- 
dent was left a widower two months ago, and he has 
resigned r , sir. Do you hear that? Designed his of- 
fice, sir— retired to private life — and I have been 
scouring the country these six weeks with the ut- 
most diligence, in order to find his successor, and 
never has an eligible candidate appeared until this 
moment, sir. 0 you need not make any pleas, or 
talk of the pressure of private affairs, Colonel ! No, 
no, sir; I have plenary powers, and a bench-war- 
rant will issue in ten minutes upon the least show 
of resistance, or attempt at evasion, sir. No, no; 
there’s no chance for a resort to the High Court of 
Errors and Appeals, either, for that question was 
settled in the case of our retiring President. You ’ll 
see it faithfully reported, sir, in the tenth volume of 
Jackson’s Reports, sir! No appeal lies to the Su- 
preme Court from a summary process of arrest in 
the ease of a newly found President of the Ugly 
Club! No, sir; the only plea that has ever been 
ventured with the shadow of a chance of success 
was the case of an unfortunate bachelor, who was 


The Agent of the Ugly Club . 


201 


supposed to have at least one year’s possibilities of 
finding a woman that would consent to marry him — 
that is the only case upon record, sir. But yours is 
not a case in point — the woman has already consented 
to look at your barbarous face across the dining-table, 
and if she has survived the shock up to the present 
time, there’s a prospect, sir, I might say a very 
reasonable prospect, that there is nothing in the 
land of the living that could by any possibility 
frighten her. So, my Ugly Brother, take it easy! 
take it easy! Show yourself the pink of a gentle- 
man, and manfully stand up to the rack, fodder or 
no fodder ! ” 

During this extravaganza the face of the “ Colonel ” 
addressed grew alternately red and pale, and it was 
a question whether he would “ make the best of the 
situation” and laugh with the laughers, or deal the 
voluble “Agent” a blow that would stop his oration. 
But the former course was evidently the proper one, 
and he subsided, but with a very ill grace, whilst 
the Agent continued. 

“Yes, Colonel; and now that you have kindly 
consented to serve us, I may state, for your satisfac- 
tion, that the hall of our initiation-room is wisely 
provided with burnished brass mirrors, so that there 
is no danger of breaking a looking-glass by thrust- 
ing your ugly phiz into it. No, sir; our bill of ex- 
penses has been run up so high by such accidents 


202 


Lights and Shadows . 


that we are prepared now, sir, even for such a hor- 
ribly ugly countenance as yours, sir! And besides, 
I have just been to Washington, and taken out a 
patent for a novel species of lantern, sir, that turns 
readily on a pivot, and revolves so rapidly that the 
effect of the light is greatly reduced, so that when 
you take the chair that hideous countenance of yours 
will have its reflection softened to such a degree that 
it will not knock the honorable members oft* their 
pins when they see you occupying your exalted posi- 
tion in the eastern chair. But I must forewarn you 
of some of our customs, Colonel, that you may know 
how to proceed on the night of your installation. 
In ordinary cases, sir, we have a pan of sweet milk 
resting upon a pedestal in the center of the hall, 
and the distinguished citizen who aspires to the 
Presidency of our Club is conducted to the spot, 
and is required to look three several times at the 
surface of the milk, and if it does not curdle in- 
stanter, he is ignominiously expelled from the order, 
and his acquaintance is hopelessly cut by every mem- 
ber in good standing in the Club. Yes, sir; I say 
in ordinary cases, the bowl contains nothing but 
sweet milk, pure sweet milk, fresh from the cow, 
not even allowing it to be strained, sir; the very 
bubbles on the brim scarcely have time to subside. 
But in your case, my Ugly Brother, it is a matter 
of extraordinary good luck! Yes, sir! Such is the 


The Agent of the Ugly Club . 


203 


phenomenally villainous expression of your culti- 
vated ugliness that the envious brethren who desire 
to head you off from wearing the laurel will insist 
upon putting a table-spoonful of soda in the milk, 
which, by neutralizing the lactic acid that is latent 
in the fluid, renders the curdling process difficult, 
and in most cases impossible. But never fear, my 
Ugly Brother, your exquisitely appalling face will 
stand the test, and curdle the soda, milk and all in 
a single glance. And then you are a made man, 
sir!” 

And he brought his hands together with a clap 
that was like the sound of a horseman’s pistol, and 
made the “Colonel” dodge his head as if he had 
been really struck. Just at this moment, as if in 
response to the ^applause from the hands of “the 
Agent,” the steam-engine gave one of those un- 
earthly screams so familiar to our ears in Southern 
cities, and the train’s motion scattered the spectators, 
and the voice of the orator was drowned in the roar 
of the cars. But the Agent kept his stand, gestic- 
ulating fiercely now and then, and rattling away 
with untiring speed, whilst ever and anon his singu- 
lar face was wreathed with smiles, and he touched 
tl e “Ugly Brother” on the shoulder in the most 
endearing manner of which he was capable. 

When the conductor came through the car to 
take the tickets, I saw the eyes of the besieged citi- 


204 


Lights and Shadows * 


zen turned toward him with a hopeful look, as if 
appealing for help. But “the Agent” was too 
quick for him. He snatched the ticket from the 
hand of the Colonel, and placing his own with it, 
handed them to the conductor, whispered something 
in the ear of the official, who smiled and passed on. 

The harangue of the next half hour I could not 
hear, but it was continuous, and the despairing 
“Colonel” leaned back, and closed his eyes whilst 
the torrent of words came down upon him. As the 
train “ slowed up” at the next station, I perceived a 
sudden change in the manner of the Agent, and his 
words were soon intelligible, but in a lower key. 

“Yes, Colonel, or I should say Mr. President, 
we’ll insure you either in the Continental or the 
Hew York Mutual, at less than one-half the ordi- 
nary premium, because, you see, we’ll go halves 
with our customers in the ‘Accident Insurance Com- 
pany,’ we paying half the premiums, and taking 
half the money paid to policy-holders who have 
been maimed or crippled — and all that we will have 
to do will be to station you at the door of the car, 
and every insured person, man or woman, that gets 
a good view of that abominable phiz of yours, will 
be just as certain to break a limb as they see you! 
Then we pay your premium, and go oyster-suppers 
on the balance — do you see? And I ’ve got the pa- 
pers right here; how much shall we go for you, eh? 


The Agent of the Ugly Club. 


205 


Twenty thousand? No. Ten? Say five, then — 
all right, five thousand. Now, if there ’s any thing 
in my line, any thing from a rat-trap to a steam- 
engine, here’s your chance. You see I’ve quite a 
little budget here. Never fear, my Ugly Brother, 
there ’s no glass in the box; no, no! too cautious for 
that!” 

The motion of the train once more drowned his 
voice. But out of his capacious pockets he drew a 
number of packets, which he opened, and questioned 
his tormented victim, and finally, as it seemed, sold 
him a box of matches. 

Poor Bob Short ! He was a harmless “ crank,” 
that for nearly thirty years traveled up and down 
the country, hunting for a President of the Ugly 
Club, and peddling small articles, such as knives, 
scissors, matches, and the like. There was not a 
warmer heart inside of a human body than he had, 
and if the “ Colonel” had only known how to 
humor him, the long harangue would have been 
cut “ short” by the transfer of a dime or two into 
the honest pocket of the “ General Agent of the 
Ugly Club.” 


TEN YEARS IN THE WILDERNESS 


u 0 you ’re going to Y next year? ” 

“ That is to be my new home.” 

“I know the place well. You will have one 
strange case there, if no more.” 

“ Indeed; and who is that? ” 

“Mrs. T., one of the most intelligent ladies in the 
town.” 

“And why do you call her a 6 strange case? ’ ” 

“ Because she has been for ten years in the wilder- 
ness, a constant ‘seeker’ of religion, and cannot find 
peace in believing.” 

“ Do you know her? ” 

“I have met her several times, and have had at 
least two long conversations with her concerning 
her religious experience.” 

“And what seems to be her difficulty? ” 

“Ah, there is the puzzle! Nobody knows. I have 
said that she was intelligent; and you will find, on 
making her acquaintance, that I have not overrated 

her when I say that there is no lady in Y who 

is her superior.” 

“You have interested me in her case. I shall 
pay special attention to it.” 

(206) 


Ten Years in the Wilderness. 


207 


“ That is right; for, unless I am greatly in error, 
you will learn something of value from her case. 
Certainly it is a puzzle to me.” 

My friend was the pastor of a church not far 
from Y , and a man of large experience in re- 

vivals of religion. His statement of the case of 
Mrs. T. was indefinite, it is true, but it was suffi- 
cient to direct my attention to this member of my 
flock as one that needed my pastoral care in a 
greater degree than most others. 

I found, on making her acquaintance, a lady whose 
information was extensive, and especially in the field 
of religious literature. She had read almost every 
book that would afford assistance to the earnest in- 
quirer, and I could not suggest one with which she 
was not familiar. So far as the doctrines of Chris- 
tianity were concerned, she had a thorough knowl- 
edge, and I found that in all the formal duties, such 
as reading the Scriptures, private prayer, and regu- 
lar attendance upon the public service, she was ap- 
parently faultless. One other fact impressed me as 
remarkable. She was a constant attendant at the 
weekly prayer-meeting. I say that this fact im- 
pressed me, because the Wednesday night prayer- 
meeting was usually a small affair, the congregation, 
probably, amounting to less than one-tentli of the 
Church-membership. 

In conversation with Mrs. T., I found that her 


208 


Lights and Shadows. 


mental and spiritual anxiety had, for several years, 
seriously endangered her health, but for two or three 
years past this state of excitement had given place 
to a calm but almost despairing state. It often 
happens that unwillingness to part with some world- 
ly pleasure, or the requirement to take up a daily 
cross of some kind, intervenes between the soul and 
its Saviour. But these were not difficulties in her 
case. 

“ You tell me that you are as deeply in earnest as 
you know how to be, my friend,” I said to her one 
day; “are you sure of that? ” 

“ If I know my own heart, there is nothing that I 
would not do, or be, to find the rest that Jesus prom- 
ises to those who come to him.” 

“And you tell me that you do come to Christ?” 

“In every way that I know, I have sought the 
Saviour. In tears, by day and night — summer and 
winter, and spring and autumn — I have gone to 
every meeting; I have complied with every condi- 
tion that has been pointed out to me, and yet I am 
not blessed ! ” 

“ Suppose it should please God to take you away 
from this world, do you feel that you could calmly 
trust your soul in the hands of your Saviour? ” 

“ 0 Mr. Heartwell! it makes me shudder to think 
of it. As the Lord is my witness, I have lived for 
more than ten years striving to keep his law, and 


Ten Years in the Wilderness. 


209 


doing every thing that my conscience, enlight- 
ened by his word, taught me to be a duty, and yet 
I feel that mine is the service of one who cannot 
say that he is my Saviour. I know not why it is. 
I suffer no occasion to pass without offering myself 
at the altar for prayer. Early in my experience the 
ministers told me that I was doing wrong to wait 
for conversion before uniting with the Church. I 
took their advice and came into the Church. Then 
they insisted that I should use the Lord’s Supper as 
a means of grace, hoping to find in this ordinance 
the evidence of my acceptance with God. I took 
the Supper accordingly, but without result. 1 have 
listened to the counsels of many ministers of the 
gospel, and sometimes I have been greatly wearied 
by the iteration of matters that had no profit in 
them to me. I have been lectured and scolded, and 
sometimes not gently reminded of the comforters 
of Job by a like insinuation that some great wrong 
lay hidden from the sight of the world, and I was 
being punished for it. Then came a period in 
which I had a severe struggle with my natural 
sensitiveness at being continually the subject of 
curiosity and discussion in the Church. But I 
have tried to bear it all with meekness and pa- 
tience. But here I am to-day; I am fearful, with- 
out hope ! ” 

“ No, my sister,” I replied, “ you are not without 
14 


210 


Lights and Shadows. 


hope. Whatever the difficulty may be, God is mer- 
ciful, and will not banish you from hi? presence 
whilst you are honestly and earnestly seeking his 
face.” 

I do not know if, after all, there was not some- 
thing in this case that shaped my pulpit labors in 
Y . My own mind was greatly exercised in re- 

gard to my distressed parishioner. This fact led 
me to the investigation of a class of themes which 
are not as largely discussed as they deserve to be. 
The minds of most men need no argument to con- 
vince them of the importance of religious consecra- 
tion. The difficulty lies not in the formation of 
right opinions, but in the failure to act in accord- 
ance with the light and knowledge possessed. The 
excuses that men make for staying away from 
Christ; the habit of postponing the duty for a 
more convenient season, and the delusions that 
are accepted as reasons for delay; these were fre- 
quent subjects, and earnestly discussed. 

One Sabbath morning my mind was singularly 
interested in the text, “If I regard iniquit}^ in my 
heart, the Lord will not hear me.” The subject 
was a familiar one, doubtless, to my hearers, but it 
seemed to me, on that occasion, that there was more 
in it than I had ever seen before. The conscious 
retention of a bosom sin was a barrier to the justi- 
fying grace of God that anyone would admit upon 


Ten Years in the Wilderness. 


211 


the bare statement of the proposition. But may it 
not be possible that one may regard iniquity in the 
heart and be unconscious of the fact? This ques- 
tion could be met with another — How then can that 
be a sin of which the soul is not conscious? 

The ground w^as in the neighborhood of meta- 
physics, and I am not partial to such subjects on 
ordinary occasions. But sometimes the soul of the 
sinner is hedged. about with very subtle and very 
profound materials of philosophy as a defense. The 
fort cannot be taken by storm. Nor will it avail to 
make gradual approaches to the citadel, to be fol- 
lowed by a surprise and a hand-to-hand conflict 
upon the walls. The enemy must be met on his 
own ground, fought with his own weapons, and 
overpowered by the superiority of divine truth. 

Here, then, was a case of genuine casuistry. The 
hindering cause might be sin in a positive form, 
when recognized and consciously and willingly 
retained. The barrier may exist unconsciously, 
however, and the soul may be hindered by it — 
may be kept away from Christ through this instru- 
mentality — whilst the discovery of its existence 
would lead to its instant repudiation. But, until 
discovered, it remains a potent influence, depriving 
the penitent of peace and joy in the Holy Ghost. 

Could such a case exist? 

Let us take our social relations to the world 


212 


Lights and Shadows. 


around us as an illustration. God is love. If we 
love God, we must love our brethren. Every man 
sees the rightfulness in the love which good men 
have for those who are good. But how can a good 
man love a bad man? What fellowship is there be- 
tween light and darkness? 

A man will love his friend — that is in agreement 
with the nature and fitness of things. But how can 
a man love his enemy? Is not this requirement of 
the gospel an impossibility? 

To the first of these questions, we answer that 
the good man loves the bad man, not because he is 
a bad man, but because he is a man ; because he 
has an immortal soul — a soul for which Christ died. 
The evil that is in the man does not enter into the 
question at all. We have nothing to do with it. 
The man has a 60 ul for which Jesus died, and we 
cannot hate that soul and at the same time love 
him who died to redeem it. We cannot be indiffer- 
ent to the welfare of that soul, if we love him who 
gave himself as a ransom for it. This is but the 
recognition of the brotherhood of men. To enter 
into the question of the merits of the man, whether 
he deserves this or that condemnation as an evil- 
doer, is to forsake our rightful province, as members 
of the human race, and to assume the office of a 
judge of the merits or demerits of our fellow-creat- 


ures. 


Ten Years in tee Wilderness. 


213 


To the second question, How can a man love his 
enemy? the answer is the same. We do not love 
him because he is our enemy, but in spite of the fact 
that he is an enemy. The love of God cannot dwell 
in a soul that hates any member of the human 
family, let his course of conduct be what it may. 
All the refinements of the deluding spirit, such as 
the sentiment that we may hate the sin and love the 
sinner, are dangerous and misleading. We find 
it difficult to separate the sinner from his sins; 
and, consequently, while he remains a sinner we 
will hate the man. Not only is this the plain duty 
of every man, but he must do all that is in his power 
to convert the sinner from the error of his way. 
Our Saviour tells us that if we are bringing our 
gift to the altar, and then remember that our 
brother has aught against us, we must leave the 
gift, and be reconciled to our brother before we 
make the offering. But what if our brother will 
not be reconciled? We have nothing to do with 
that at all. We are the parties to be reconciled. If 
he will not hear us, we have delivered our own souls. 
But let us examine these words in Matthew closely, 
and we will find that here is no warrant for the con- 
sideration of any caprice or causeless prejudice that 
others may entertain against us. We must remem- 
ber that our brother has a cause. We must be con- 
scious that we have either committed a wrong 


214 


Lights and Shadows . 


against him or that we have given him just cause 
to believe that we have done so. In either case the 
duty is imperative, but not otherwise. If he has 
wronged us, it would be folly to make his repent- 
ance the condition of our acceptance with God. 
Nothing can be farther from our Saviours meaning 
than this, and yet Satan has gained many a victory 
by this construction of the text. 

I have given a partial synopsis of my discourse 
on that Sunday morning. I am not sure that this 
resume is a correct one, for I felt at the time “ drawn 
out” in directions that I had not designed when I 
began. I had lost sight of Mrs. T. Her case was 
not in my mind at all. But I noticed her, after the 
dismission of the congregation, as she approached 
one of her neighbors, a member of the same Church. 
There was a short, but evidently animated conversa- 
tion, and a few moments afterward they were clasp- 
ing each other around the neck, and for the first 
time during my residence in Y— the house of God 
resounded with shouts of praise and glory to the 
Most High ! The hum of the retiring crowd was 
hushed in an instant, and when the beaming face of 
Mrs. T. was turned toward me, with the tears stream- 
ing down her cheeks, there went forth from the 
lips of the sympathizing multitude a sound as of 
mighty waters: Halleluiah! Praise ye the Lord! 

The long mystery was explained. Many years 


Ten Years in the Wilderness. 


215 


before, there had been a dispute, and this was fol- 
lowed by angry speeches, which in due course were 
reported from one to the other by those agents 
whom the devil uses for this species of correspond- 
ence. Mutual friends interfered — formal words of 
forgiveness had been spoken, but the sting had 
never been removed out of the heart of either of 
the parties. One of them, Mrs. M., was a frank, 
quick-tempered woman, who said all that she 
meant to say, and was done with it. Not so was 
Mrs. T. She pondered every thing that had been 
spoken against her, and whilst she was conscious 
of a successful effort at least to free herself from all 
disposition toward resentment, she could not avoid 
a feeling of dislike toward her former friend. When 
Mrs. T. became a sincere penitent, and sought the 
forgiveness of sins by faith in Jesus, she honestly 
put away from her mind and heart every thing that 
savored of enmity toward Mrs. M. But the tale- 
bearers were still busy, and expressions were con- 
veyed to Mrs. M. which the other had not made, or 
if they were made, the connections in which they 
were spoken were either omitted or so dislocated as 
to convey wrong impressions. That Mrs. M. enter- 
tained prejudices against her, Mrs. T. well knew, 
but she also knew that there was now no foundation 
for them. That the other party had a just reason 
for a contrary belief, Mrs. T. had never considered 


216 


Lights and Shadows. 


at all. When, therefore, the ease came up before 
her conscience for review, there was nothing there 
to be condemned; but she felt the force of the 
truth that in such a case we are not only to be inno- 
cent of wrong, but we must also give our adversary 
an opportunity to see that we are truly so. This 
she had never done. The gift had lain these many 
years before the altar, because these two members 
of the Church might have been, and yet were not, 
reconciled to each other. 

The wilderness life was passed, and for several 
years the happy wife and mother served God with a 
joyful spirit, and finally passed away in triumph to 
be forever with the Lord. 




TI^E UNPARDONABLE SIN, 

“1\ /TR. HE ART WELL, do you think there is 

JLVX such a thing as an unpardonable sin ? 77 

The speaker was a young man, probably two 
and twenty years of age, and was evidently labor- 
ing under great mental excitement. He had entered 
my study only a short time before the hour of the 
Wednesday evening prayer-meeting. 

“I think there is such a sin. Why do you ask 
that question ? 77 

64 Because I have committed it, if there is such a 
thing.” 

44 1 hope not, my young friend. It is not probable, 
indeed, that you have done so. I think few persons 
who have gone that far in sin are ever troubled about 
the matter, but fall into the state described in the 
Scriptures, having a conscience seared as with a hot 
iron. 75 

44 0 sir! 77 he exclaimed, 44 you do not know what 
I have done. Every thought is a blasphemy, and 
I dare not pray for fear that my words may be 
curses. 77 

He became very much excited, and sprang to his 
feet, walking around the room, and wringing his 

( 217 ) 


218 


Lights and Shadows » 


hands, in great distress. I endeavored to soothe 
him as much as possible, but being wholly ignorant 
of the offense with which he charged himself, I felt 
incapable of saying much that could reach his case. 
But I could not induce him to tell me his trouble. 
It was hopeless, helpless, he said, and no relief 
could come by revealing it. The hour having ar- 
rived for my evening lecture, I endeavored to per- 
suade him to enter the lecture-room, and remain 
during the prayer-meeting. To this, however, he 
would not consent All that he would promise me 
was to return at eight o’clock the next evening, and 
give me something of his personal history. The 
“ unpardonable sin” he did not promise to reveal. 

His case made a very strong impression upon me. 
His name, on his visiting-card, he left as he retired 
from my study, and I put the card in my pocket. 
During the service I found my thoughts reverting 
to the young man and his visit, and it may be that 
the incident shaped my lecture that night to a 
greater extent than I was aware of. After the 
service, my good friend Dr. Post lingered in the 
lecture-room, and I invited him, as was often my 
custom, into my study for a little conversation. 

“ Doctor, do you know any thing about William 
Flynn?” 

“Of No. 208 Concord street?” 

“That is the number on his card, I believe,” was 


The Unpardonable Sin . 


219 


my reply, as I took it from my pocket and looked 
at the address which he had written in pencil. “ Yes, 
208 Concord street.” 

“I know him very well,” replied the Doctor; “and 
danced at his mother’s wedding, twenty-five years 
ago.” 

“Ah, Doctor, the question was a superfluous one, 
for you know everybody.” 

“No, not quite,” said the Doctor, musingly; “for 
there was a handsome lady in the audience to-night 
that I do not know.” 

“ Wonderful, Doctor! And a lady, too ?” 

“Even so. But see here, this William Flynn, 
what about him ? What do you wish to know ?” 

“Well, I am hardly at liberty to say, Doctor. 
You know that I, in my line of things, have i pro* 
fessional secrets’ as well as you doctors.” 

“Yes; and as sorrowful ones, too, I have no 
doubt. What a world of mischief we could make, 
if we had a mind!” 

“Ah, Doctor, the world is full enough of trouble 
now. It is your province and mine to lessen, not 
to increase it.” 

“Right, right, sir!” exclaimed the Doctor, as he 
clipped a cigar, and began the favorite employment 
which usually preceded his most confidential moods. 
“ Well, sir, about this William Flynn. He is a very 
scurvy dog, Mr. Heartwell.” 


220 


Lights and Shadows , 


“Indeed! You are not in earnest?” 

“In cold earnest, I have known him always. 
Yes, sir, always. I danced at his mother’s wedding, 
as I told you, and I put the young gentleman through 
his first saltatory performances to boot. He was a 
handsome boy, sir; but I’m afraid will turn out a 
4 ne’er-do-weel,’ as the Scotch say. He’s a puppy, 
sir ! ” 

And the Doctor gave his foot a jerk, as if he 
would like to try the virtue of the toe of it on the 
aforesaid puppy. 

“ I was thinking a day or two ago,” he continued, 
“about the propriety of talking with you about this 
same William Flynn, He does not belong to us, 
you know, but he frequently comes to hear you 
preach; and I thought that we might possibly, be- 
tween us, devise some measure to save him.” 

“ With all my heart, Doctor. But how? ” 

“ To guess at that, I must tell you something 
about him. His mother is a widow, left in very 
comfortable circumstances when her husband died, 
and William is her only child. He is not without 
some business talent, and is perfectly steady, and 
attentive to his duties. He is a clerk in the post- 
office, and I believe is quite a favorite with the post- 
master.” 

“That is certainly a fair beginning for a scurvy 
dog, Doctor.” 


The Unpardonable Sin . 


221 


I said this at the same time that an ugly suspicion 
began to take possession of my mind. That post- 
office clerkship might have somewhat to do with 
the “ unpardonable sin/’ But I kept my thoughts 
to myself. 

“But I am giving you the bright side first, Mr. 
Heartwell. He is, as far as I know, perfectly hon- 
est and trustworthy in his business; but a man may 
be all that and be a puppy, nevertheless.” 

“That is true,” I answered; “there are more 
principles than those that belong to the subject of 
dollars and cents. But you interest me. Pray, pro- 
ceed.” 

“Yes, Mr. Heartwell. Money principles are not 
all that make the character of a true man. This 
William Flynn is, as far as I know, accounted hon- 
est and upright in his dealings on every subject but 
one. And there, he is a rascal — a puppy! ” 

The Doctor was becoming really angry. His face 
was flushed, and he showed more excitement than I 
had ever observed in him before. 

“ There is a fair young girl,” he resumed, after a 
little effort to calm his feelings, “a beautiful girl, 
the only child, like himself, of a widow. She was 
the daughter of his father’s friend, and the two were 
together in their infancy, almost, for she is not more 
than twelve months his junior. The girl’s mother, 
however, has been a good manager. Indeed, when 


222 


Lights and Shadows . 


her father died, the mother was left with a very 
small property, and it has taken the closest economy 
to educate Florence, but her mother has managed 
to give her a very good education as the times go. 
William has been, from the beginning, the accepted 
lover of this young girl. I say from the beginning 
— I mean from the time that our boys and girls be- 
gin to plan and think about beaux and sweethearts. 
Florence is a girl of extraordinary character. She 
is gentle, innocent in mind and heart, and far too 
good for such a whelp as he is.” 

“ But so far, Doctor,” I replied, “ the bad qualities 
of William Flynn are not apparent to me.” 

“ But they will be after a little. This young man 
has been 6 engaged, 5 as we call it, for more than two 
years to Florence. The time for the marriage has 
been appointed two or three times, but under one 
plea or another he has had it postponed, and now, 
after the lapse of three months since the last ‘ ap- 
pointment,’ he has trifled with the poor girl’s affec- 
tions, and broken off the match.” 

“ Indeed ! And what is his reason ? ” 

“ Precisely that of any other young scoundrel who 
does not know and does not care to know anything 
about the value of a true woman’s love. He has 
seen some one he likes better. That is to say, his 
ambitious old mother would like to see him marry a 
fortune, and he thinks he can succeed. That is the 


The Unpardonable Sin. 


223 


sum of it. He has no possible excuse besides. 
There is not a shadow of a reason for his break- 
ing faith with her. Meantime, Florence is dying 
with a broken •heart.” 

“It is not possible, Doctor.” 

“It is gospel truth, Mr. Heartwell. I am the 
physician of the family, and I know all the facts in 
the ease. Medicines are useless. The girl is in a 
‘decline,’ by which we mean, when we are honest, 
that the disease is wholly mental, and cannot be 
reached by drugs or medication of any sort. If the 
vain young puppy persists in his course, Florence 
will be in her grave before twelve months have 
passed away.” 

“ Have you ever mentioned this matter to him ? 99 

“Haven’t I? Yes, indeed, and have been pro- 
voked once or twice, until I could barely refrain 
from giving him a taste of my horse-whip. The 
miserable cur! The only thing that I see in the 
matter to soften my contempt for him is that it 
would be a downright injustice to bind such a noble 
girl to a heartless wretch such as he is. And the 
worst of it is, Mr. Heartwell, although he has said, 
in so many words, that he will not marry her, he 
still continues to show those little attentions that 
are so well calculated to nurse hope, and keep it 
alive in the poor girl’s heart.” 

“But it seems to me, Doctor, that such conduct 


224 


Lights and Shadows . 


as that would touch her own pride, and destroy her 
love for him, no matter how strong it may have 
been. ,, 

“Ah, yes; so we theorize, but you know human 
life is not governed by theories. The poor thing 
sees nothing wrong in him. She does not reason 
on the subject at all. She is simply in love with 
him — infatuated, you and I would say; but it is all 
one. She would marry him on the way to the 
penitentiary, if need be; and if she does not marry 
him, she will never marry anyone. Good or bad, it 
comes to the same thing at last. Unreasonable, 
foolish, silly, or call it what you will, there it is. 
He is her world — she loves him with all the power 
of her sweet, gentle nature, and his bare word will 
counterbalance all the evidence of the universe. 
Every thing he does is right, even when it is done 
against herself. You can’t work upon her pride; 
she has none.” 

“ Then, I am afraid she hardly deserves the praise 
you have given her.” 

“Sir!” exclaimed the Doctor, excitedly, “those 
are the women that keep the thunderbolts of God 
from destroying this sinful earth of ours. But for 
them , what would society be? ” 

“ Grant it, Doctor. But cannot such women find 
better objects on which to squander such wealth of 
love and principle?” 


The Unpardonable Sin. 


225 


“I would to God they did, Mr. Ileartwell. But 
that is one of the inscrutable mysteries of this life. 
Such angelic beings are often mated with the mean- 
est rascals that disgrace the form of man. And no 
disgrace, no humiliation, no injury, no wrong can 
break the bonds of their wonderful affection. So it 
is! So it is ! ” 

The Doctor was now upon a favorite theme, and 
I had to recall him from the field of sentiment to 
the stubborn facts in the case. 

“ Now, my friend,” I said, “ all this is well enough, 
but let us be practical. Do you think the case is 
hopeless? ” 

“ I think there is but one way to save the life of 
Florence. If William Flynn marries this Miss Mary 
Arlington, the Congressman’s daughter, Florence is 
lost. She will never survive it. Whether she will 
be happy with William, if she should marry him, 
is very doubtful, in my mind. But it will save her 
life.” 

“ Do you know Miss Arlington?” 

“ Slightly. She is a vain young lady who is sim- 
ply flattered by the attention of young men, and I 
doubt very much whether she has ever given a seri- 
ous thought to Flynn. She accepts the flattery of 
attention from everybody, and especially from those 
who are supposed to be rich, although she cannot 

be simple enough to look for wealth in a post-office 
15 


226 


Lights and Shadows , 


clerk. No ! She has no idea of marrying him , but 
she is heartless enough to use her influence in tri- 
umphing over Florence. She would break up that 
affair, and I have no doubt that she has done so; I 
mean that she is aware of the relation that William 
and Florence have sustained to each other, and she 
has trifled with him , only to show her power over 
the pure, sweet spirit of the noble girl. No, Mr. 
Heartwell; Flynn will never marry Miss Arlington, 
but I am afraid he will destroy Florence Perry. 
The miserable puppy! ” 

The Doctor had told me all that could throw any 
light upon the mental troubles of William Flynn. 
At least there was nothing more to be learned from 
my old friend, and when he left me, I made him 
promise to give me the benefit of any new light he 
might receive. In the meantime, we agreed to think 
over some plan to rescue his fair young patient. 

It was with some anxiety that I waited for the 
young man’s visit the following evening. He came 
punctually at the appointed hour, and seemed to be 
in less distress of mind than on the evening previ- 
ous. We discussed different matters for some min- 
utes before he gave me an opportunity to touch 
upon the subject which had brought him to see me. 
Suddenly he asked me the question, “Do you be- 
lieve that God takes notice of our actions in this 
world, Mr. Heartwell?” 


The Unpardonable Sin. 


227 


“Assuredly I do, Mr. Flynn. That is a strange 
question to ask of a minister.” 

“ Perhaps/’ he said, lowering his voice to a 
whisper; “and do you think He will punish one 
who breaks a vow?” 

“Inevitably,” I answered; “if by breaking that 
vow we injure some one besides ourselves. We 
must pay for it to the uttermost farthing. Listen 
to the words of Jesus.” 

I read to him the passage, in the fifth chapter of 
Matthew, about the adversary that brings the truce- 
breaker to the judge, and the judge to the jailer, 
who exacts payment to the last penny from the 
prisoner under his charge. 

“ But I do not see how that applies to me.” 

“Only in this,” I replied: “if there is any ques- 
tion of right; if this vow of which you speak re- 
lates to that which one promises to do, and failing 
to perform it when he can and ought to do so; in 
that case the application is very clear. This ‘ad- 
versary/ with whom we ought to agree quickly, is 
the one who has a claim upon us, and by ‘agreeing’ 
with him is meant performing the thing promised, 
whatever it may be. If we can do that, and will 
not, and thereby do a wrong to our neighbor, the 
eye of eternal justice is upon us; and whether the 
6 adversary ’ takes our casein hand and prosecutes it 
or not, the infinitely wise and just Ruler will see to 


Lights and Shadows. 


it that we work out the penalty in sorrow and 
pain — it may be in losses and crosses, either of the 
same kind or the full equivalent, eye for eye, and 
tooth for tooth, to the last farthing of the debt. 
Mind, I say, if we have wherewith to pay — if we 
have 7iot, that is another matter. But these vol- 
untary forfeitures of eternal principles the God 
of heaven does not permit to go unpunished. 
These form one class of unpardonable sins, Mr. 
Flynn.” 

“ But suppose ode does not believe the Bible, Mr. 
Ileartwell ? ” 

“ That makes no difference. Suppose a thief or a 
murderer rejects the authority of the laws under 
which he lives — how can his repudiation of author- 
ity change his relation to law? He may risk the 
punishment, or escape it, for human law is bounded 
by the mere human power that executes it, but the 
law of God has no contingencies of that sort. It 
has two worlds for its operation, and eternity for its 
execution.” 

The young man was sorely puzzled, and could not 
answer my argument. I had purposely avoided 
giving him any hint that I was acquainted with his 
misconduct, and gave only a general application to 
the text of Scripture I had quoted. He sat for some 
moments in deep thought, and finally rose to take 
his leave. 


The Unpardonable Sin * 


229 


“But you have told me nothing of your troubles, 
Mr. Flynn.” 

“Not to-night, Mr. Heartwell, not to-night / 5 he 
said; “the fact is, I have only a short time to spare 
to-night. I will see you again next week.” 

“ When ? What evening ? 55 

“ Say, on Tuesday night.” 

“Very good. I shall look for you.” 

I did not see him again for several days. Doctor 
Post was called to a critical case on Sunday even- 
ing, and I did not meet him as usual after the night 
service. 

On Tuesday afternoon, the Doctor rode by my 
study and handed me a newspaper. He was in a 
great hurry, but had marked a paragraph in the 
paper, to call my attention. A visitor called to see 
me, before I had an opportunity to read the para- 
graph, and thus my time was occupied until a few 
moments before my young friend came. The article 
marked in the paper I determined to use at the 
proper time in our conversation. 

“ I have thought a great deal about our interview 
the other evening, Mr. ITeartwell / 5 said William, 
“ and I am persuaded that you are right . 55 

“ I am glad to hear you say so, my young friend,” 
I answered; “and now, are you prepared to follow 
my advice? ” 

“I have already done so / 5 said he with a smile. 


230 


Lights and Shadows . 


“And now, what about the unpardonable sin?” 

“ I have paid the debt to the uttermost farthing.” 

“ Or agreed with the 4 adversary,’ eh? ” 

“Well, not exactly an adversary,” he answered 
merrily; “but might have been one, perhaps.” 

He changed the conversation, and I did not press 
him for an explanation. After half an hour spent 
in general discussion of the questions of the day, I 
asked him, “Do you know Miss Mary Arlington, 
Mr. Flynn?” 

“ 0 yes,” he answered; “ she is one of our 4 belles/ 
you know.” 

“ She was” said I. “ See, here is a paragraph in 
an Illinois paper. I will read it.” 

“ Marriage in High Life. — Mr. Henry Preston 
was married on Thursday last to Miss Mary, the 
daughter of our distinguished townsman Hon. 
Thomas Arlington.” 

“ Rather sudden, was it not ? ” 

“I should think so,” he said; and his face w T as 
slightly flushed, I thought. 

“ Had you heard of this before, Mr. Flynn? ” 

“ That is the first intimation I have had of it. She 
is a beautiful woman. And they say she is rich.” 

“ Perhaps so. Long life to her, though I do not 
know her. This is a serious business, though, and 
we can do little else than wish for happiness to at- 
tend those who form these life-long friendships.” 


The Unpardonable. Sin. 


231 


“But you can do more than that sometimes/’ he 
said. 

“And how.” 

“Why, in my ease,” said he; “you can take the 
place of the judge, and see that I am handed over 
to the jailer, and that I do not get out of jail until 
I become an honest man.” 

“You are making a riddle, Mr. Flynn.” 

“ Then I will solve it,” said he; and he handed me 
a paper which had the familiar seal that had often 
greeted my eyes. 

“0 ho! ” said I; “ and this is the warrant, eh ? ” 

“Yes; and Thursday evening at eight o’clock is 
the time.” 

And so it was. I held in my hand the marriage 
license of William Ftynn and Florence Perry; and 
on the Thursday following there was a brilliant 
little party in which the fair young maiden, pale 
and beautiful as a lily, stood at the altar, and the 
vows were made that warded off the “unpardonable 
sin.” 

Ten years have passed. Florence is, as far as I 
can see, a happy wife, and her husband has pros- 
pered. The two old mothers are now resting in 
the grave whereon tender hands have planted the 
flowers that tell of the eternal spring. 


WHY THEY DO NOT AGREE, 


U A 7 ^ ^ ave a bit of controversy on hand, Mr. 

V V Heartwell, and have agreed to leave the 
matter to your decision, if you will ? ” 

44 That was rightly put in as a condition, Doctor — 
4 if I wiir — for I am not partial to arbitrations. You 
know the old maxim: 4 If a man must be an umpire, 
it is better to arbitrate between enemies than be- 
tween friends; for of two enemies one will certainly 
become a friend, whilst of two friends one will cer- 
tainly become an enemy. ’ ” 

44 Never fear as to that,” said the Doctor, laugh- 
ing; 44 we are certainly both friends, but you need 
not fear making an enemy out of either of us, 
for we only want to make you witness to a con- 
tract.” 

44 Let the contract be in writing, then, so that we 
may all sign it; then every man must interpret for 
himself.” 

44 But it is a matter of fact, Mr. Heartwell; and 
there can be no dispute about facts,” said the Doc- 
tor. 

44 Why, my friend, half the disputes in this world 
are about facts — what are you thinking of? ” 

( 232 ) 


Why They Do Not Agree . 


233 


“Well, just now I’m thinking that you are 
nearly as hard a case as my friend Barnes here, 
who has debated with me for half a dozen years, 
trying to defend himself in a cause that he knows is 
wrong.” 

“ Perfectly well do I know that you are wrong,” 
said Mr. Barnes. 

“Yes, as certainly as I know that you are,” re- 
plied the Doctor; “but we shall never bring mat- 
ters to a conclusion that way. We have agreed, 
Mr. Heart well, to decide a point in metaphysics, or 
in theology rather, by a scientific demonstration; 
and you are to be the umpire. Now, the matter is 
in your line, and you must not refuse.” 

“ Worse and worse, Doctor! Metaphysics, theol- 
ogy, and science! Why, there is enough in that 
combination to disturb the peace of the whole 
world. I think I must decline! ” 

“No, no,” said Mr. Barnes; “we will take the 
matter seriously, now; let all joking be laid aside. 
We have an important principle to determine, and 
you must become our referee.” 

“Well, then, if I must, I suppose I must; but I 
am not partial to such honors.” 

“ 0 as to that, you will have little to do,” replied 
the Doctor; “ for I shall make my friend Barnes see 
his error, if he is the candid man I take him to be, 
and if he does not, why there’s an end of it. You 


234 


Lights and Shadows* 


are to be a witness to the facts — that is aboi^t the 
sum of it.” 

“ Well, gentlemen,” said I, “as you both seem to 
be greatly in earnest, I am a little curious to know 
what the point is that is to be decided.” 

“Ah ! ” exclaimed the Doctor, “ now we have you ; 
for we do not intend to let you know the point in 
dispute until the scientific demonstration has de- 
cided it.” 

“Very well, gentlemen, as you please,” I an- 
swered. 

“Now, Barnes,” said the Doctor, “ listen, and say 
if I am stating the case correctly. I owe Mr. Barnes 
the sum of two hundred dollars, lacking a few cents 
—call it two hundred?” 

“ That is correct,” said Barnes. 

“Well, if the scientific demonstration we propose 
results in a victory for Barnes, why, I am to pay the 
debt — but if I gain the case, he loses the money.” 

“Why, gentlemen,” I interposed, “that is a bet! 
Surely you do not ask me, a minister, to be a wit- 
ness to a gambling transaction. Fie, Doctor! and 
you a steward in the Church, too.” 

“Hold, Mr. Heartwell!” said the Doctor, “with 
all due respect, and all that, it is not a bet; and if it 
is, why, you have the Church laws in your hand, 
you know, and can bring me to account.” 

“Verily, that would be a fine predicament for me, 


Why They Do Not Agree . 


235 


though ! First agreeing to be an umpire in a dis- 
pute which turns out to be a bet , and then hauling 
my Church officer over the coals for being a party 
to a bet in which I am the 4 referee . 5 No, sir; not 
this time. None of your traps, Doctor ! 55 

“Well , 55 said the Doctor, laughing heartily, “ you 
are a wary bird, sure enough. But now, in good 
earnest, wait until the matter explains itself, and 
you will see it is no bet in any sense of the word. 
We will demonstrate that, I give you my word of 
honor . 55 

“Then I submit, Doctor. Your word is as good 
as any man’s bond . 55 

“ Thank you for that compliment, Mr. Heartwell. 
My word is certainly as good as my bond, for I am 
as much bound by one as the other, as my friend 
Barnes knows* for he has not a scratch of the pen 
for this debt I am speaking of. But, let us lay all 
pleasantry aside, and come to business. Mr. Barnes 
has been, for many years, in the general jewelry and 
clock and watch business. He is out of it now, and 
lives on his investments; but he is thoroughly ac- 
quainted with all the details concerning time-pieces 
of every sort . 55 

“ Now, I agree to pay the money down for twelve 
clocks, to cost, at the factory, not exceeding ten 
dollars each; and that will buy a good clock, will it 
not, Mr. Barnes ? 55 


236 


Lights and Shadows . 


“Yes, as good as can be made, with ordinary 
cases. ” 

“ Very well,” said the Doctor; “ these clocks are 
to be precisely alike, the machinery from the same 
hands — I mean the works of the clocks are to be 
from the same factory — and warranted before they 
are accepted. These twelve clocks are to be regu- 
lated by the electrician, Mr. Hill, and they are to 
run for two weeks by Mr. Barnes himself, being set 
up in the private room of his office, no one being 
permitted to have access to the office during the 
time the experiment is in progress, except Mr. 
Barnes himself. That is right, so far, Mr. Barnes?” 

“ Perfectly correct, Doctor,” replied Barnes. 

“How, Mr. Barnes pledges himself, during these 
two weeks, in which the clocks are running in his 
office, that he will not wind up the striking appara- 
tus of any one of the clocks until we three meet in 
his office and together witness the result of our ex- 
periment. You agree to that, Mr. Barnes?” 

“Yes; that is part of our contract,” he replied. 

“ Good! How, at ten o’clock in the morning of 
the day appointed, we are to meet in his office, and 
remain, if he desires it, until ten o’clock at night, 
unless, in the meantime, the matter m dispute is 
decided. You agree to that?” 

“Yes; that is the bargain.” 

“Very well. How, Mr. Ileartwell,” continued 


Why They Do Not Agree . 


237 


the Doctor, “ this is all we are at liberty just now to 
tell you. When we get ready for the experiment, 
we will give you timely notice/ 5 

“ Twelve hours on a jury, 55 said I; “ who is to 
provide the lunch? 55 

“ I will do that; and you shall have the best ‘drip 
coffee, 5 genuine Mocha, from Vogt’s on the Avenue, 55 
said the Doctor, as he jumped into his buggy, with 
Mr. Barnes by his side, and bid me farewell. 

Bather an odd man, this Doctor Dost. But al- 
ways, in every thing he undertakes, having a prac- 
tical object in view. What he was driving at, in 
the matter of the clocks, I could not foresee, but I 
felt no little interest in the matter. 

Mr. Barnes was an excellent man in every respect. 
He was not a religious man — that is to say, he had 
never made a profession of religion, and I had al- 
ways found him a little difficult to approach upon 
the subject. A warm friend of the Church, how- 
ever, he gave his time and his money to benevolent 
enterprises of every kind as freely as anyone whose 
name was on the register. Ilis wife and daughters 
were pious women, and in all respects, excepting 
the one point of personal religion, Mr. Barnes was 
a model citizen, so far as I know. 

Time passed on, and 1 had almost forgotten the 
affair, when Doctor Post sent me a note inviting me 
to meet him and Mr. Barnes on the following day, 


238 


Lights and Shadows. 


at half-past nine o’clock. When I arrived, at the 
appointed time, the Doctor remarked: “We are 
now to decide the famous dispute, Mr. Heartwell. 
You see Mr. Barnes has his twelve clocks all ranged 
on a shelf at the same height from the floor, and 
filling two sides of the room, six on each side. lie 
tells me that he has not touched the axle of the 
striking apparatus, and that he has wound up the 
clocks every day at twelve o’clock, or near that 
hour. This was not necessary, as they are eight- 
day clocks; but the point is, to make the treatment 
uniform. They have been wound up at the same 
time, and now he will wind the striking apparatus 
of each one in our presence.” 

It was quite a curious exhibition — the little time- 
keepers ticking away in concert, each one with its 
own peculiar stroke; and ten minutes or more were 
taken up in winding up the striking attachments. 
When this was done , by Mr. Barnes, the hands of 
the clocks, with singular agreement, as far as the 
eye could detect, pointed to five minutes of ten 
o’clock. 

“Now, gentlemen,” said the Doctor, “we will be 
seated, and await results. Let me say one word more, 
however, to Mr. Barnes. If you desire to do so, at 
any time, you may wind the striking apparatus of 
any one of the clocks during the day, if you find that 
that will help your case.” 


239 


P 

Why They Do Not Agree. 

“All right,” said Mr. Barnes. 

We took our seats, and watched the clocks with 
intense interest. The experiment was a novel one 
to me, but I began to catch a glimmering idea of 
what my friend the Doctor was about. Whilst we 
sat there, each with his watch in hand, I could see 
on the face of the Doctor the confident smile which 
showed that he was not harboring the slightest doubt 
of coming out triumphant in the trial of wits that 
was now taking place. Presently, there was a series 
of “clicks,” the warning that precedes the tapping 
of the bells inside the clocks. The interest increased 
every moment, and the fact that the lifting of the 
catches inside of the machinery was a prolonged 
rattle, in which each clock could be recognized by 
the ear, although the succession was almost too 
rapid to be counted, caused the Doctor to nod his 
head and smile. 

Presently the striking began. One hundred and 
twenty strokes of the little sonorous bells. 

“There!” exclaimed the Doctor, springing to his 
feet; “did they strike absolutely together?” 

“ Well, no, not absolutely” said Mr. Barnes, “but 
very nearly.” 

“Ah, my friend,” said the Doctor, laying his hand 
on the shoulder of Mr. Barnes, “that is one scored 
against you! As an honest man, you cannot say 
that your ear detected only ten strokes of the clocks, 


240 


Lights and Shadows . 


which must have been the case if the striking had 
been absolutely synchronous. It was not, for I could 
distinguish at least forty distinct strokes, and I have 
no question that a musical ear would have detected 
at least twice as many, especially if a 4 lightning 
calculator 5 had the ear . 55 

The Doctor was certainly in the right, but I did 
not attempt to count them; and if I had, as the 
44 musical ear 55 is not one of my possessions, I would 
have made an indifferent reckoner. 

<4 And now, gentlemen,” continued the Doctor, 
“as we have nearly an hour to wait for the next 
performance, we may discuss the first act of the 
play. It is simply impossible that these clocks 
should strike together at all. As they have failed 
at ten, they will fail again at eleven, at twelve, at 
one, and so on until the end of their time of service. 
Ho, sir; the thing cannot be done! The next hour's 
divergence will be greater, probably, than the first. 
It may not be the same clock that will prove too 
fast or too slow, but first one, then another, will fall 
out of line. For, mark you! although the hands 
travel round the dial -plate in perfect accord, and you 
can see no difference, yet when the strokes of the bell- 
hammers come, if any one of them fails by the forty- 
thousandth part of a second to keep up with the 
others, the concord is broken, and the ear will de- 
tect the laggard in spite of fate . 55 


Why They Bo Not Agree. 


241 


Mr. Barnes was silent. The Doctor certainly had 
the best of the experiment thus far, and I now 
learned that this was the point at issue between 
them. The Doctor, asserted that it was not in the 
power of human skill to construct twelve clocks 
that would strike the hours in absolute accord, at 
the same instant of time, so that the strokes of the 
twelve bells could not be distinguished, one bell 
from another. Mr. Barnes, on the other hand, al- 
though he had spent the greater part of his life 
among watches and clocks, believed that machinery 
made by machinery and so delicately constructed as 
many American watches are now made, could be 
made to strike in unison. For this purpose he had 
applied to the clock-makers and obtained, as he 
supposed, time-keepers so absolutely alike that the 
similar parts could be exchanged from one to the 
other without in the slightest degree affecting their 
time-keeping qualities. All this might be true, and 
within a second’s space it was true, perhaps. The 
regulating of the pendulums, and the agreement in 
time, manifested to the eye by the pointers, the 
hands, might be correct, but to compel the syn- 
chronous strokes of the clock-bells had never been 
accomplished, and could not be. 

“No, gentlemen,” said the Doctor; “the United 
States Treasury could not pay the workmen that 

might undertake and fail in the performance of 
16 


242 


Lights and Shadows . 


that task. A million of men, working through a 
century, if they could do so, making the most deli- 
cate machinery that human genius has ever con- 
trived, or ever will contrive, cannot succeed. It is 
as absolutely impossible as the discovery of per- 
petual motion. And now, Mr. Heartwell, you are 
witness to the fact of one failure of my friend here. 
We will stay out the time, if he wishes it, hut the 
next hour will show a greater discord in the strik- 
ing than the first; and my opinion is that no two of 
those clocks will be found to strike together at 
twelve o’clock. You can no more do this than 
you can grind a needle to an absolute point that 
the microscope will not detect and show to be as 
blunt as the end of my cigar. Only one power in 
the universe can perform this work. The great 
God alone can make the ‘ music of the spheres,’ and 
regulate the machinery that moves with such abso- 
lute correctness that myriads of ages will not show 
the variation of a hair’s -breadth in the orbit of a 
planet, or a second lost on the dial-plate of the 
clock of the universe. 

“My friend Barnes has always argued with me 
that the diversity of opinions among Christians was 
an argument against the gospel of Christ. He is 
confused, he says, by one crying out ‘Lo, here is 
the Church!’ and another, 4 The temple of the 
Lord are we!’ And another pleads this doctrine, 


Why They Do Not Agree. 


243 


whilst a fourth claims exclusive rights and authority 
by an ordinance or a form of Church government; 
and so on through the list. There are a dozen de- 
nominations, he says, contending with one another, 
all speaking different things, and he does not know 
who has the truth of God. 

“Now, I challenged him to show me two or a 
dozen clocks that would strike together at the same 
instant; and if he cannot do that, how absurd it is 
to refuse to do one’s duty toward God, because men 
differ as to how that duty is to be done. About the 
duty itself, to fear God, and work righteousness — to 
love God with the whole heart, and our neighbor as 
ourselves — in these things all agree. Nobody doubts, 
nobody denies, that these are requirements of Script- 
ure, agreeable to reason and necessary to human 
happiness. These clocks all agree that it is ten 
o’clock, and they will soon agree that it is eleven, 
but one will be a little ahead, another a little be- 
hind, in the manner of telling it. One will strike a 
little faster, another a little slower; one louder, an- 
other softer; the vibration of one bell will be longer, 
another shorter; one will be a little clearer than an- 
other; in a dozen things of minute character these 
tones of the bells will differ, but they all will strike 
the hour. 

“And if a man cannot find twelve clocks that will 
strike together for ten strokes, how absurd it is to 


244 


Lights and Shadows . 


look for thinking men, for human beings who are 
not machines, but independent creatures of the 
great Architect, to agree always on all subjects 
relating to the greatest, broadest, widest, deepest 
subject in all the universe — the salvation of a human 
soul ! ” 

The Doctor was preaching a sermon. And an 
excellent sermon it was; and his audience — one-half 
of it, myself, was in the spirit of rejoicing, whilst 
the other half, Mr. Barnes, was fairly convicted, and, 
like the man in the feast who had no wedding-gar- 
ment, he was speechless. But once fairly on the 
track, the Doctor found his “ mouth filled with argu- 
ments,” and continued his speech, until the ominous 
“ click” of the clocks warned us that the striking- 
time was come again. And when it came, the dis- 
cord, as the Doctor had foretold, was greater than 
ever. He had triumphed, and Mr. Barnes gave up 
the contest. 

“ How,” said the Doctor, “ according to our agree- 
ment, I am released from my debt. But I will not 
claim it, of course, and never intended to do so. 
But here are you, friend Barnes, with a mighty debt 
due to the Almighty, which you refuse to pay him 
until he overthrows the whole order of his creation, 
and makes things according to your notion of har- 
mony and agreement in human opinions. And 
what a world it would be if men were machines, 


Why They Do Not Agree. 


245 


and human opinions, the movements of the human 
intellect, could be modeled after a piece of clock- 
work! The very monotony, of human life would 
make it intolerable. The very thing that makes 
the heavens majestic, the earth beautiful, and life a 
blessing, is variety. 

“You have taken every possible precaution in 
the preparation for this trial. The clocks were 
made by your order, with the knowledge of the 
purpose for which they were designed. You have 
wound them up this morning to the same point, and 
turned the hands, as you tell me, in such a way as 
to bring the striking apparatus into unison of action. 
Moreover, having brought each clock to the 4 strike/ 
when the pendulum was at rest, you tell me that 
you have stationed a man at each clock, in order to 
start the pendulum at the same instant, so that not 
one moment of advantage has been given to any one 
of the machines. Now, with all this painstaking, 
see the result! The discord just now was three 
times as gteat as at first, and will be greater, proba- 
bly, at the next hour. If the clocks were all moved 
by the same motive-power, the result could not be in 
accordance with your theory. But, as you know, 
my point was to show that no two machines of this 
kind, working by similar power, yet each inde- 
pendent of the other, could be found absolutely 
synchronous in action. 


246 


Lights and Shadows. 


“I could have proved my point just as well by 
taking two clocks for twelve hours together, for the 
same result will be attained. Whatever care may 
be taken in the making, there will be an appreciable 
difference in the moment of striking. If the metal 
of which the springs are made could be selected of 
the same quality to a hair, if the pressure of each 
spring was the same within a grain’s weight; if the 
friction in the instrument that releases the striking 
apparatus was exactly the same in force; if all these 
conditions were alike, absolutely, the presence of a 
grain of dust, or a particle of rust, would destroy 
the possibility of synchronous action. Then the 
temper of the springs cannot be ascertained except 
upon trial, and by the trial there are appreciable 
changes; and so to the end of a long chapter, there 
are difficulties in the way of producing a perfect 
unison of time, even in the most delicate instru- 
ments that man can make. 

“ So you have lost your cause, Mr. Barnes, and I 
have gained mine ! Now, do you not think that a 
shabby excuse which makes the discords of human 
opinion a reason for not obeying the voice of con- 
science? When you see that man cannot make 
machines that will move independently, and yet 
use all their functions in absolute harmony, what 
an absurdity it is to expect two men, or twelve 
men, to harmonize their minds into absolute con- 


Why They Do Not Agree. 


247 


cord when they discuss themes that are as broad as 
the universe, and as lasting as eternity.” 

Mr. Barnes was very thoughtful, but made no an- 
swer to the Doctor. I did not consider myself com- 
petent to improve upon the exhortation of my friend, 
and we took our departure from the office together. 

“By the way, Doctor/’ said I, after we had 
reached the street, “you have a lot of time-pieces 
on your hands. Was it not rather a costly experi- 
ment, this matter of the dozen clocks?” 

“0 no,” said he; “Mr. Thomas, the clock-dealer, 
has taken them all off myliands already. He will 
make a point on the superiority of the clocks, as a 
special order, and will sell them all in a week. Ho, 
Mr. Heartwell,” he continued, in a serious tone, 
rather unusual to him, “ I am concerned about 
friend Barnes. He is a splendid fellow, and could 
do the cause of Christ so much good if he would; 
and this flimsy excuse of his I have removed to-day, 
I think. He will keep those clocks at work for 
some days yet. He will not give over until he sees 
the thing cannot be done. And then — well, we will 
see how my sermon works upon him. He will think 
seriously of the matter. But do not mention it when 
you see him.” 

Some years after this incident, I was in a “Dis- 
trict Conference” of a neighboring State, having lost 


248 


Lights and Shadows . 


sight of Mr. Barnes for some time. I was not a 
little pleased to see, as a delegate from Dr. Post’s 
church, our old friend, Mr. Barnes. I had no op- 
portunity to inquire, but I have no doubt the ex- 
periment of the synchronous striking of the dozen 
clocks of Dr. Post had been as the good seed sown 
in the fruitful ground. 













